


Six

by LingeringLilies



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Greek Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7479942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LingeringLilies/pseuds/LingeringLilies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is a young goddess charged with the care and tending of Spring. She knows nothing of death or pain or suffering until her dearest friend's lover is taken to the Underworld. Determined to get him back and see her friend smile again, Clarke journeys into Hades, where she soon learns that the stories she's been told about the dreaded "Lord" of the Underworld are false, and that death is as much a part of life as love.</p><p>A queering of the Greek myth of Persephone and Hades, with no abduction, rape, or coercion. Inspired by The Dark Wife by Sarah Diemer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little taste of my new project. Hopefully it's accessible even to people who don't know much about Greek mythology. I plan to have a regular update schedule for this project just as I did for Pie in the Sky, but I'll let you know what that schedule is in a few weeks, after I've taken a little time to regroup and flesh out this project. Thanks for reading!

Clarke was not taken against her will. She was not abducted or raped or imprisoned. She was not dragged down into the Underworld by a dark, selfish god.

 

None of those things happened.

 

And yet the story commonly told by gods and mortals alike paints her a damsel, plucked in her prime and made Queen of the Dead despite her protests. Immortals and bards bemoan her fate and curse the six seeds that sentenced her to an eternity of revolving between Earth and the Underworld. They weep for the cursed bride of the dark Hades, who would never grant her children.

 

To think the goddess of Spring would never have children.

 

No wonder none of the Olympian gods believed her when she told them it was a choice, her most cherished and best decision. They would never hear of the tender, dark nights spent in Hades’ bed, of the richness death grants the living, or of the mercy Hades offered in death for the suffering and world-weary.

 

After all, most of them still didn’t believe Hades was a woman.

 

As a child growing up on Mount Olympus, home of all the major gods and goddesses, Clarke was shielded from suffering and pain. She knew nothing of death or strife or hunger. When she heard talk of the cruel, dark Lord of the Underworld who dragged souls down to his realm single-mindedly, imprisoning them forever, she was puzzled; surely Zeus, her father and ruler of Earth and all the gods, would not allow such a cruel, ruthless god his own realm. When she asked her mother, her mother told her it was to ensure that Hades remained far from Olympus so Zeus could reign undisturbed. And yet even as a child, Clarke knew her mother was only telling her half the truth.

 

As Clarke grew and her immortal proclivities made themselves known, her mother moved her away from Olympus.

 

“Come, darling. Earth will need our tending day in and day out, all the seasons of the year.”  

 

Clarke, in her childlike wonder and trust, followed her mother down the mountain obediently. As soon as her feet touched Earth, flowers sprung up from her footsteps, trailing behind her so she left every place more beautiful and alive. She delighted in it, running barefoot through fields and forests, wind whipping through her hair, her laughter a call and response with birds and other newly born creatures of Earth.

 

Clarke’s mother, known on Olympus and among mortals as Demeter, wove Clarke’s hair into intricate braids, and Clarke plucked flowers from beneath her own feet for Demeter to tuck inside. Her mother showed her how to send her energy into the earth, coaxing the wheat to grow, ensuring a bountiful harvest, blessing the mortals with nourishment and beauty. Clarke was never allowed to interact with mortals, but she delighted in knowing they were happier for her work. She tended to animals and plants as they first peered up from soil and egg and womb. She nurtured each one, her hands giving life and strength, bringing soft rain and gentle sun in perfect harmony with every plant and living creature.

 

Earth was a garden, always prospering, always beautiful, always green and full of new life.

 

Clarke and her mother had to return to Mount Olympus to attend summits and rites and bless new gods and goddesses as they ascended to Olympus. Clarke accompanied Demeter, and noted her mother’s constant minding of her, anxious if Clarke was out of her sight. After Clarke went through her rites and was anointed with the formal name Persephone, Demeter was keen to leave Olympus as soon as possible.

 

But Clarke was curious about the other ascending gods and goddesses. She had no one her age to converse with on Earth, and she found herself staring at the way robes flowed over the bodies of the young goddesses, the muscles and jaws of the young gods. Demeter saw her interest and tried to call her away, reminding her of the work they had to do on Earth.

 

But Clarke was tired of her mother’s keeping. She had a temple in her honor now, and resented her mother’s constant watch. If mortals trusted her enough to worship her -- and worship her they did, day in and day out -- she should be trusted to spend a few hours with other gods.

 

So Clarke disobeyed, escaping down the mountain with a dozen other young gods and goddesses, children of Hermes, Apollo, Artemis, and Athena. They ran through the forest barefoot in the dark, laughing. Artemis’s daughter blew the moon into fullness so they could see as clear as day.

 

Clarke wondered at these young gods and why her mother didn’t want her to know them. They were so much like Clarke, there was no way they could be poor influences.

 

Artemis’ daughter Octavia had long, dark hair flowing down her back, tangling with her bow and quiver. At first Clarke thought she was enamored with Bellamy, son of Zeus, but she soon learned they were brother and sister. She realized that they were also _her_ brother and sister, for they all shared the same father in Zeus.

 

And then there was Raven, who had no parents to speak of.

 

Clarke tried to guess her parentage by her traits. She was knowledgeable and wise like Athena, brash and stormy like Zeus, kind and loyal like Hera, quick-witted and playful like Hermes. Clarke liked Raven and found her the most approachable of the group.

 

When they reached a stream, Raven leapt in first, bidding the other gods to join her. Their robes clung to their immortal bodies as they splashed and laughed and made stars shoot through the sky with their revelry. Brilliant flowers trailed from where they played all the way back to Mount Olympus, sprung from beneath Clarke’s feet, colored with her joy in the company of others. Clarke was so happy, she didn’t mind her mother’s scolding when they returned to Olympus that night.

 

After that, Clarke’s new friends, her brothers and sisters, came to visit her frequently in the garden she shared with her mother. Octavia brought her stag’s horns and date palms, taught her to use a bow and arrow, and told her about all the creatures of earth. Apollo’s son sang her songs and told her the ways of Helios, god of the Sun. Hermes’ son flew all over earth in like his father, telling her of the beauty of Spring in faraway lands, praising her work. And Raven brought her books and scrolls, offering her wisdom and grace and mirth.

 

Clarke grew to love all her friends dearly, and gifted them with small favors of Spring: for Octavia, the spotted backs of fawns, like small snowy flowers; for Dionysus’ son, birdcalls so sweet and melodic they inspired the people of Earth to sing in response; for Hermes’ son, new flowers and colors to see everywhere he went.

 

Clarke loved her friends, and they loved her in return.

 

But Clarke never knew what to give Raven. Raven assured her that her friendship was the best gift of all, but Clarke was determined to find a proper gift for her.

 

Raven shared Clarke’s fascination with birds and newborn creatures. They ran the forest together, often racing, and Clarke came to think of Raven like a sister. Demeter adored Raven too, welcoming her into their garden as often as she wanted to visit, sharing the secrets of the Earth and harvest with her.

 

One day Raven came to the garden looking as though she had come from a festival honoring Dionysus. She was mooney-eyed and giggling, but she’d drunk no wine, and Clarke was puzzled. She couldn’t get Raven’s attention; Raven continued to stare dreamily into the sky.

 

“She’s been hit by Eros,” Demeter whispered into Clarke’s ear. “God of love.”

 

“I thought that was Aphrodite…” Clarke said, frowning.

 

“Eros is her son,” Demeter said.

 

“Oh…” Clarke said, still staring at Raven, wondering if she would ever be shaken out of her stupor.

 

“Until the effects of the arrow wear off, she’ll only want to talk about one thing.”

 

“What?”

 

“Her lover, of course,” Demeter said. She pressed her hand to Clarke’s back, mouthing _Go_ with a smile. “Someday you too will know the power of love, and you will be glad for a friend who will listen.”

 

Clarke walked toward Raven and sat down. Before she was even settled, Raven was effusing about her new love; how handsome he was, how sweet his voice was, how kind and brave he was, how sweet his lips were, how divine the joining of their bodies. Clarke was curious about all of it, most of all how a single arrow could render Raven -- the smartest, most reasonable goddess Clarke knew -- so silly and romantic.

 

But Clarke listened, and over time she began to hope she too would find a god to marry as Raven hoped to marry her love. They picked flowers and made crowns together, dreaming of their futures and the children they would bear.

 

“What does love feel like?” Clarke asked Raven.

 

Raven tilted her head, thinking, then plucked the petals from a flower beside her, handing them to Clarke. Clarke smiled, knowing Raven was asking her to do one of her favorite tricks. She set the petals in her palm, closed her eyes for a moment as she pictured the formation of the creature in her mind, then breathed overtop the petals until they joined together, forming wings that twitched and then lifted off her hand, fluttering in a circle around them before flying off to see the rest of the garden.

 

“It feels like that,” Raven said. “All through me and around me.”

 

Clarke sighed wistfully, wondering when Eros would hit her.

 

For many months Clarke performed her duties as goddess of Spring, willing delicate tendrils of grass and vine to push through the earth, reaching up toward Helios. She welcomed newborn deer and birds and rabbits, offering them lettuce and seeds from her palm. She walked in beauty and peace all over Earth.

 

And then one day Raven came to her bedraggled and crying. All traces of Eros were gone. There was no moony-eyed wonder, no staring at the sky, no weaving of flower crowns. Raven’s hands were limp and her eyes dull and red.

 

Clarke ran to her, holding her, asking what was wrong. Raven only cried and wailed.

 

“He’s dead!” she sobbed. “My love is dead!”

 

“Dead?”

 

“Taken to Hades. _Forever_.”

 

“But gods don’t go to the Underworld,” Clarke said, so confused she almost laughed.

 

“He was mortal,” Raven said, dragging her hands down her face.

 

Clarke’s face jumped in surprise. Raven had spoken at such length about her lover’s beauty and strength, Clarke had assumed he was immortal. She had heard of gods and goddesses mingling with mortals, but having no contact with them herself, she didn’t know what to make of Raven’s association.

 

Raven fell to the ground, inconsolable, and Clarke sat beside her, drawing her head into her lap, sweeping her dark hair down her back.

 

She thought of all the afternoons Raven had spent extolling her lover’s virtues. Raven had been so happy, and Clarke wanted nothing more than to erase her sorrow.

 

“Did you ask Zeus to rescue him?”

 

Raven shook her head. “He has no power over Hades.”

 

Clarke frowned. As one of Zeus’ children, she was certain she could bend his ear and alleviate her friend’s suffering. All she had to do was slip away when Demeter wasn’t looking.

 

“We’ll get him back,” she said softly. “There’s always a way.”

 

Raven shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

 

Clarke just hummed, cradling Raven’s head, hopping to cushion her until she could be reunited with her love.

 

The next day Demeter was busy tending to crops farther away than usual, so Clarke escaped the garden and ran as fast as she could to Olympus, making her strides as long as she could to leave as few flowers in her wake as possible. She lept over hills and valleys and streams, hair and robes wild in the breeze, until at last she landed on Olympus.

 

Olympus, with its great columns and heavy gates, seemed more daunting without her mother beside her. But Clarke reminded herself she had as much right to Olympus as any other god; she’d gone through her rites, and was entitled to an audience with Zeus. Even if she hadn’t, Zeus was her father, at least in name, and she hoped this would earn her favor with him.

 

When she submitted herself before him, he smiled, calling her daughter, but using her formal name.

 

“What brings you to Olympus, Persephone? Are you not busy making the world beautiful?”

 

Clarke took a breath for courage, hoping that she could do more than simply make the world beautiful. She told Zeus of Raven’s plight, of her love for a mortal, and how he’d been taken to Hades.

 

“Persephone…” Zeus said, brow growing dark. “Surely you know no mortal can return from Hades.”

 

Clarke tried to reason with him, saying that the Underworld wouldn’t be any worse off for one less soul, and the world much better for Raven’s happiness. But Zeus was unmoved by her heartfelt plea. He said that no god, not even him, could interfere with the fate of mortals, and that no mortal -- or god for that matter -- could ever return from the realm of Hades. The Lord of the Underworld was ruthless and cold, and hoarded souls so greedily even one was sure to be missed.

 

Clarke argued with him relentlessly, until at last he stood from his throne, menacing her, ordering her to leave. Clarke tried not to tremble, alarmed that her own father would treat her in such a way. She scowled and marched back out of the gates, twice as determined to retrieve Raven’s lover as she had been when she arrived.

 

She stormed down to Earth and traipsed through the forest, leaving brambles in her footsteps, bees swarming in her wake. She passed a pomegranate tree and grabbed a fruit from it, smashing it on the ground, watching as the seeds burst out and rolled away. She kept walking and arrived at a clearing she’d often visited with Octavia to practice her archery. There were still a few arrows stuck in a tree, loosed from Octavia’s hand, and Clarke pulled them out, snapping them, blowing on the ends to form bluejays which squawked and flapped away, screaming out the anger Clarke felt.

 

Clarke plopped down, willing herself to think of a solution rather than dwell in anger. She had all the beauty and resources of Earth at her disposal; surely she could think of something Zeus had not. His zeal for power had blinded him to possibility, Clarke was sure.

 

As she was sitting, accidentally sending little flurries of leaves around the clearing, a nymph crept up beside her. Clarke was accustomed to the presence of nymphs; when her mother had to travel to tend the earth, she’d often left Clarke in the care of wood nymphs.

 

But this nymph looked different than the wood nymphs Clarke had grown up with. Her aura was blue and white. Clarke tried to calm the flurries she was sending out to greet the nymph politely.

 

The nymph was kind and playful, inviting Clarke to walk with her back to her home on the shore. Clarke was too angry to sit still, so she agreed, and as they walked, Clarke told the nymph about her predicament.

 

At first Clarke didn’t think the nymph was listening. The nymph darted behind trees and lept over shrubs, swinging from branches as though the forest were her favorite place besides the sea. Clarke almost gave up, certain the nymph would never understand her affection for Raven and how deeply she wanted to see her happy again. But after Clarke had finished her story, the nymph, hanging upside down from a vine, said, “You could always go talk to Hades yourself. It’s what a good friend would do.”

 

Clarke stopped in her tracks. She hadn’t considered that.

 

“Can I do that?”

 

The nymph shrugged, sliding off the vine. “Hermes goes down there all the time to make deliveries.”

 

“Right…” Clarke said. “You’re sure I won’t be trapped?”

 

The nymph just laughed. “Zeus would never let his daughter be trapped in Hades. Besides, you’re the goddess of Spring, right? You can bring anything to life.”

 

Perhaps it was the flattery, or the impish look in the nymph’s eye, or the encouragement to be disobedient, but Clarke decided to go to Hades herself and ask for Raven’s lover back.

 

“Do you know how to get there?” she asked.

 

The nymph grinned wickedly. “Of course.”

 

And so Clarke was led deeper into the forest, away from the bright green and chirping of spring. As the woods grew darker and the trees more bare, Clarke grew nervous. But she was a young goddess, brash and headstrong as a spring storm, and didn’t let her fear deter her. She plunged into the darkness, undeterred by the catching of her dress on thorns or the scraping of her sandals against rocks.

 

At last the nymph brought her to a great stone door, almost concealed by briars and knobby, bare vines.

 

“Here you are,” the nymph said. She tapped on the rock three times and it slid away, making a horrible grinding noise. “Safe passage.”

 

Clarke peered into the darkness, suddenly uncertain. But the nymph was so encouraging, and the image of Raven’s heartbroken face seared into her mind, she pushed aside her fear and stepped into the blackness.

  
And thus began her journey into Hades, toward her throne, and toward her love.


	2. Descent

* * *

Clarke could barely see where she was going as she stepped into the Underworld. Her sandaled feet stuck to the steps as she felt for them. She stretched her arms out for a rail or wall, but all that surrounded her was darkness. She felt unsteady, like the faintest breeze could send her tumbling down the steps.

She stepped down and down and down, farther than she thought she would need to go, hundreds of steps below the forest floor. She saw and heard and felt nothing. For a moment she considered turning back, but she was determined to bring Raven’s lover back to her.

Finally a thin silver line came into view. As Clarke drew closer, she saw it was a river. She doubled her speed, almost tripping down the steps. When she reached the bank, she saw that there were milky-white shapes floating through it, liquid and long. She squinted, then to her horror realized they were in the form of people, warped and languid in the water.

Souls.

The river was teeming with souls.

She steeled herself and bent closer, hoping to recognize Raven’s beloved among them. Raven had spoken in such detail about him, Clarke thought she would recognize him. She paced up and down the bank, impatient to find him and return to Earth triumphant.

“Careful, nymph,” croaked a voice as old and cracked as marble.

Clarke looked up to see a muscular man with a moss-like beard and hair hanging limp around his broad shoulders. His skin was an unusual color, even for a god; in the gray light of the river, it looked almost green. His eyes were so big and fierce and unblinking, Clarke wanted to look away. His lips were full and blue and flared out to reveal a mouth full of sharp teeth.

“ _ Hades _ ,” Clarke breathed. She stepped back, foot almost slipping into the river.

The man laughed, creeping toward her. “You flatter me,” he said. “I am Charon, guardian of the River Styx, Ferryman of the Dead.”

“Oh,” Clarke said. She was glad to not have to negotiate with this fearsome creature. She squared her shoulders to look brave. “I’m here to talk to Hades.”

Charon laughed, a great, rumbling laugh that created ripples in the water.

Clarke felt anger swell like the river before them. 

“I’m serious,” she said. “He has someone I need to get back.”

Charon laughed again. “Does he? Well, then…” He held out his hand.

Clarke shrank back, not wanting to touch him. She worried he would pull her into the river or carry her off somewhere to have his way with her.

“Surely you don’t expect me to ferry you across without payment.”

Clarke regretted not bringing any form of payment with her. She knew Charon had no use for mortal currency, as neither did she. But she could have brought something from the garden or a rare gem to bargain with. Instead she looked behind her at the trail of flowers she’d brought down the steps with her, plucking a handful and thrusting them toward Charon.

Charon seemed confused by this. He examined the bouquet for a moment before taking it from her hand gingerly. He looked down at the soft petals and young green stems, fragile in his calloused hand. The bright, healthy green of the flowers made his skin look even more sickly.

Then, to Clarke’s amazement, a little smile crept over one side of his mouth. It disappeared quickly, but Clarke wondered if perhaps he was satisfied with the novelty of something alive. From what Clarke could see, everything else was dead; the black, muddy bank of the river had not a single blade of grass growing in it, and the only thing floating in the water were souls. There were no trees or birds or fish or even bugs around. Other than the dull streaming of the water, the great underground cavern was lifeless. 

Charon snapped his fingers and the nose of a small ferry boat lifted up from under the water, dragged toward the bank by a chain Charon now held in his hand. His great, hulking arms pulled it toward them with ease, and Clarke gathered her dress up and climbed in, careful not to step in the water with so much as a toe. 

The boat turned toward the opposite bank, and Clarke looked over the edge, afraid. The faces of the dead peered up at her from the water, eyes and mouths open as though they were moaning for rescue. A few hands reached up against the edges of the boat, and Clarke shrank back. 

“They cannot hurt you,” Charon said.

Still, Clarke kept her hands and robes safely inside the boat until it landed on the opposite bank. She collected herself and hopped out, eager to be away from the river of souls.

“Which way?”

Charon just lifted a hand and pointed into the blackness before them.

“That way?”

Charon nodded and pushed the boat off the shore with his pole, sliding away.

Clarke turned toward the blackness before her and began walking, step after frightening step. She looked back only once and saw the flowers in her footsteps were already withering, curling back toward the earth. It struck fear into her heart, to see her work so weary already. But she walked on, and before long, she saw a flickering light beyond the craggy edge of a boulder. She peered around it and saw a cavernous room filled with golden light. Before her was a gentle sloping staircase. Seated at the top was a throne, empty.

Clarke walked cautiously up the steps. The hall was silent, her footsteps muted by some kind of moss or velvet she couldn’t see clearly. She made her way to the top of the dais and squinted down at the throne.

It was heavy and appeared to be carved out of solid onyx. What little light there was in the cavern glinted off of it. Though Clarke supposed it had been in the Underworld since the overthrowing of the Titans, it looked brand new.

“I don’t use it often.”

A woman’s low, gentle voice echoed through the hall, startling Clarke. Up on earth in the light of day she wouldn’t have been startled, but the total lack of movement and noise around her made the simple utterance seem abrupt.

Clarke whirled around, eyes falling on a woman at the bottom of the staircase. She was dressed all in black, heavy robes cascading off her shoulders.

Though the room was dark and earthy, the woman was as polished as the throne. Her skin was clean and her hair was neat under a shining gold circlet with an onyx stone set in the front.

“I, uh,-- sorry, I’m-- looking for Hades,” Clarke stuttered.

The woman’s gaze fell to the ground, but only so she could make out the stairs as she took them one by one.

“And so you have found her.”

Clarke frowned in confusion. “No, I’m looking for the Lord of the Underworld.”

The woman’s lips pursed in displeasure. “People typically do not use such a slur to my face.”

Clarke’s frown deepened. “What?”

The woman arrived on the dais and stood before Clarke. Her cape flowed over her shoulders, blending into the darkness of the stairs, as though she was physically connected with the earth. 

Her face betrayed no resentment or anger. “Zeus calls me ‘Lord’ to mock me.”

Clarke stared at the woman, the smooth plane of her cheeks, the paleness of her skin and lips, the settled deepness of her eyes. 

Realization dawned on Clarke and a chill of fear ran through her. She was face to face with Death, knowing nothing of it other than its ability to rob Raven of her happiness and take the lives of mortals. 

“ _ You’re _ Hades?”

A sad, fleeting smile passed over the woman’s face. “Hades is my realm. Those who know me as anything other than ‘Lord’ call me Lexa.”

“Lexa,” Clarke echoed. “Why would Zeus call you  _ Lord _ ?”

“To mock my preference for the company of women over men.”

Clarke had never considered that anyone might have a preference for one sex over the other. Now that she thought about it, her mother prefered the company of men, and Zeus the company of women. All the gods and goddesses seemed to have an affinity one way or the other. 

Except Clarke.

Lexa continued talking. “Zeus coveted my lover for himself and thought mocking me would help him win her favor.”

“Did it work?”

Lexa’s eyes flashed to Clarke. “Zeus takes what he wants without regard for the feelings of others.”

Clarke felt herself slip into a moment of pity for Lexa, then remembered herself.  If this really was the ruler of Hades, Lexa was not be as sympathetic as she appeared. The ruler of Hades was ruthless. 

“Kind of like you.”

Lexa quirked her head.

“You take what you want without regard for the feelings of others.”

Lexa took a slow, measured breath. She looked heavier.

Clarke squared her shoulders. “You have someone I want back.”

Lexa’s eyes fell to the ground. “I cannot return souls to the earth.”

“Like hell you can’t.”

Lexa’s eyes stayed down for a moment before looking back up at Clarke.

“You’re the one they call Persephone, right?”

Clarke gave a shaky nod, then added, “My friends call me Clarke.”

“Tell me, Clarke. Once you have called forth a sprout from the earth, can you send it back?”

Clarke stumbled. “No. But plants are not souls.”

“Do they not have life?”

“Yes, but-”

“Do they not have a cycle of sprouting, growing, flowering, fruiting, and dormancy?”

“Yes, but-”

“Can you reverse that cycle with your will?”

“No.”

“So you see my dilemma.”

Clarke swallowed, frowning with indignance. “Souls are not like plants. They don't grow or flower or fruit. They're snatched by you from the bodies of mortals, and if you wanted to, you could return them.”

Lexa gazed at Clarke, her expression darkening. When she spoke, it was soft and cold. “That has not been my experience.”

Clarke tried not to resent the fact that Lexa had the upper hand in the argument; Lexa had spent the last thousand years in Hades surrounded by souls, while Clarke had never encountered a soul without a body.

Still, she had come all the way down here and was determined to try her best. “Perhaps my affinity for new life will aid me.”

“Of course,” Lexa said, bowing her head reverently. “You are the Goddess of Spring. Perhaps you will have better luck with resurrection than I.”

Clarke tilted her chin up. “I intend to.”

Lexa studied Clarke for a moment, then seemed to decide the argument was not worth her time. “Welcome to my kingdom, Clarke. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable.”

The words were cold, but Clarke heard a mournfulness underneath that unsettled her. Lexa turned and walked down the stairs again, disappearing into blackness.

Clarke took in the room around her. The only light came from flames in sconces attached to dark walls made of sharp rock and marble. She wasn’t sure if there were halls or passageways attached; everything was cloaked in blackness. She descended the staircase in a different direction than Lexa had gone and began walking. 

The light from the throne hall faded, and soon it was pitch black. She’d never seen anything so black; in her world, the darkest thing was the forest at night, and even on moonless nights some light wound its way into the thicket. There was the blackness of a butterfly’s wing, or the black eye of a frog or doe, or the black seed that opened to offer a pale green tendril. But this darkness was not like any of those darknesses; this was a darkness to which there was no depth.

Once the darkness swallowed her up, she started to panic. She felt as though she’d been buried alive in a small box or encased in glass at the bottom of a lake. She found the air heavy and hot, though the rest of her was chilled. Her feet became uncertain, and she held her hands up to feel for walls and boulders around her.

But there was nothing.

She knelt, feeling for the earth beneath her, but her hands felt only warm mist. The only solid thing she could touch was herself, and she was beginning to doubt even that. Perhaps this was dying: being ripped from the physical realm, blind and senseless.

She called out on instinct, first for her mother. But the words only went a few inches from her face before being swallowed up by the blackness. It was silly to call for her mother, she knew; Demeter couldn’t hear her. Demeter was in her garden, bathing in sunlight, nurturing the harvest.

“Help!” she cried.

Remembering fearsome Charon and not wanting to invite him toward her, she quieted herself. Her breath rang loud in the otherwise noiseless space. Her heart began to beat rapidly.

She remembered Lexa’s last words to her, that she ought to let Lexa know if there was anything that might make her more comfortable. She was doubtful of Lexa’s sincerity, but what other choice did she have?

“Lexa!” Clarke shouted, as loud as her immortal body would let her. 

A response came immediately. 

“I’m here, Clarke. What’s wrong?”

Clarke turned her head, unseeing. 

“I’m lost.”

“What do you see?”

“Nothing! Just… blackness.”

There was a few seconds of silence before Lexa spoke again.

“What did you imagine death would be like?”

Clarke panicked. “Am I dead?”

“Gods cannot die. But you are in the realm of the dead, and what you see reflects what you imagine death to be.”

Clarke turned her head, wondering where Lexa was and why she could hear her voice all around.

“I guess- I never imagined death.”

It was silent, and Clarke wondered if she had offended Lexa.

But when Lexa spoke, she seemed surprised. “You see nothing because you imagined nothing.”

Clarke was puzzled. As a goddess so concerned with budding life and birth, she hadn’t spent a moment of her time contemplating death. 

“Do most people imagine death?”

“Yes.”

“What do they imagine?”

“Some imagine flames and smoke and pain. Some imagine a placid lake. Some imagine a hearth surrounded by lost loved ones. Some imagine longing for their mortal life. Some imagine reliving their death forever, trapped in a cycle of suffering or violence. Some imagine ascension into peace.”

“What is death  _ really _ ?”

“I cannot answer that for you.”

Clarke frowned. “You’re saying the Queen of the Underworld doesn’t know what death is?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Clarke heard a soft breath of fatigue or frustration. 

“Close your eyes, Clarke. Imagine what would follow your life if you were mortal.”

Clarke closed her eyes, concentrating on the task at hand. She thought of leaving her mother’s garden for good, of never returning to Olympus, never seeing her friends again.

There was darkness, despair, the crumbling and rotting of fruits and vines and trees. There were tears and wails and attempts at bargaining.

But above that, there was one person to blame.

As though summoned, Lexa appeared before her, bathed in a soft silver glow. Her stance was dark and demanding, but her expression was gentle and--

Her face was almost  _ kind _ . 

Lexa blinked rapidly, then looked sad. “I see,” she said.

Clarke didn’t know what Lexa meant, but she was relieved to see something or someone before her other than the suffocating blackness. 

Seeing the sadness on Lexa’s face, Clarke grew curious. “Do you imagine death?”

“Yes”

“What what do you imagine?”

Lexa paused, eyes grazing the invisible floor for a moment before she said, “Mercy.”

Too disoriented to entertain Lexa’s response, Clarke took an impatient breath. “Can you help me find a soul?”

 

“Close your eyes again. Imagine the person you want to see. Call them to you in your mind. Imagine their presence.”

Clarke thought of what she imagined whenever Raven spoke to her about her beloved. She imagined the charming, handsome man that had Raven so enamored. She imagined the goodness and youth and joy they shared.

And just like that, something appeared in a silver beam before Clarke, radiant for a moment. It was featureless and almost formless, but Clarke knew it was who she was looking for. Then, as she thought of the sorrow it had caused Raven, of the task of carrying the soul out of the Underworld to remarry it to its body, the figure grew dark gray and slumped to the floor, like a large silk sack filled with beans or potatoes or wheat. Clarke reached forward and caught it before it could disappear into the blackness.

Lexa had vanished, but Clarke was preoccupied with trying to carry the heavy, slippery soul out of the Underworld. 

At first she panicked about not being able to find her way out. She was in a strange realm without friends or guidance. But then she thought: perhaps the same thing that had worked to call forth Lexa would bring her to where she wanted to be. Perhaps in the Underworld, one must simply wish things into being for them to appear. 

So she imagined herself on the banks of the Styx. And just like that, she heard the rushing of water - or was it souls - and saw Charon’s boat heading toward her. Relieved, she heaved the heavy soul into the boat and sank down, arms already sore from carrying the weight of the soul.

Charon spoke to her, mocking her attempts to resurrect a mortal, but Clarke ignored him. He lived in the Underworld. What did he know of love or life or hope?

When they reached the opposite shore, Clarke hauled the soul out. It seemed to be getting heavier and more slippery. She flung it over her shoulder and made her way toward the stairs, sandals sinking into mud. 

She went up the stairs, straining under the weight of the soul. The journey down had seemed endless, and she was grateful for her immortality when contemplating the effort it would take to get this soul back up to the forest. Once there, she could ask the forest creatures to help her bear the load.

Up and up and up she went, her breath ringing loud in the darkness. The dull silver light of the soul lit the way, and Clarke could see craggy stone walls on either side of her, narrowing as they ascended. 

Finally, she saw the rock that would lead her back out into the fresh air and light. She hitched the soul higher on her shoulder, prepared to give one last burst of effort.

But as she did, she heard a hissing sound coming from the soul. It shrank as though it was deflating, and Clarke lost her grip as is slid out of her hands, too silky to be caught. Clarke yelped as it slid down the stairs, smooth and noiseless and quick as a waterfall after a storm.

“No!” Clarke called, running down the stairs after it as fast as she could. 

But even her immortal feet weren’t fast enough, and before she could catch it, the soul had slipped back into the Styx like a rabbit bounding into its warren with a fox on its heels.

Clarke stood on the banks of the Styx, dumbfounded. As the souls slipped away before her by the thousands, Clarke felt the fury of a storm build in her.

The soul’s slipping from her grasp couldn’t have been a mistake. It had been as though the soul had been summoned back to its watery bed, and she knew exactly who had summoned it.

“Lexa!” Clarke shouted angrily.

“I’m here, Clarke.”

Clarke looked around, not seeing Lexa before she remembered that travel and space worked differently in this realm.

She closed her eyes and imagined Lexa on the banks of the Styx, then waited for her to materialize before she stomped over, angry.

“Why won’t you let me take it?”

“The soul?”

“ _ Yes _ , the soul. You did something to it. It slipped down the stairs and back into the Styx like it wasn’t allowed to leave.”

“Perhaps it knows it cannot be remarried to its body.”

“You could let it go if you wanted to. What’s one more soul when you have millions?”

Lexa blinked at Clarke for a moment, then her voice returned quieter and even softer than before. “You think I collect souls for my own satisfaction?”

Clarke lifted her chin, challenging Lexa to prove otherwise.

Lexa only sighed, weary as though she too had tried to carry a soul out of Hades.

“Zeus continues to misrepresent my role in the balance of the Earth.” She looked up at Clarke, gracious and sad. “I do not hoard souls for my own amusement. I take no pleasure in collecting them, and would be glad to pair them back with their bodies if there was a way to do so without disrupting the balance.”

“What balance?”

Lexa studied Clarke with the same soft sadness, then simply said. 

“You’re young, Clarke. Soon you will learn that the tempest of youth cannot last forever.”

Clarke scowled, resenting the condescension in Lexa’s voice. 

But Lexa smiled, and the weariness dissolved. “There is beauty in all things, dear Persephone.”

Clarke shifted, still uncomfortable with her formal name.

“You don’t like it,” Lexa said, observant.

“What?”

“Your formal name. You don’t want to be known as the Bringer of Chaos.”

“Is that what it means?”

Lexa gave a single nod.

Clarke folded her arms, petulant. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You don’t think Spring brings chaos?”

Clarke gave Lexa a look that dared her to continue.

Lexa stepped closer. “How do you explain a spring storm? Or a flurry of leaves lifting off the ground? The leap of a baby bird out of the nest in hopes of first flight? The grip of a vine around a tree?”

Clarke scowled.

“Spring is as unruly as they come, Clarke.” Lexa paused, then softened. “But it is also beautiful. I’m sorry I don’t get to appreciate your work in my realm.”

There was a moment of quiet.

“Perhaps one day you’ll understand the beauty of  _ my _ realm.”

Clarke almost scoffed, but stopped herself. Lexa's piercing earnesty unnerved Clarke.

And though her upbringing gave her every reason to believe Lexa was ruthless and cruel and greedy, the woman before her compelled her to believe otherwise.

“This cycle you speak of,” Clarke asked. “How does it work?”

“It exists in all things,” Lexa said. “I cannot explain it without explaining the nature of all things.”

“Try,” Clarke said. “I’m smarter than you think.”

“I know,” Lexa said, a hint of amusement passing over her face. “But it will take me more than an evening at a riverbank.”

She paused.

“If you truly want to understand, you would have to stay in Hades as my guest.”

“For how long?”

“Until I’ve satisfied your curiosity or you tire of my company.”

“And I’m free to go at any time?”

“Of course,” Lexa said, dipping her head subtly. “All gods may come and go as they please. Most simply choose not to visit at all.”

Clarke glanced up the stairs she’d just struggled up, then across the silver waters of the Styx. On Earth she understood everything, from the call of a bird to the cycle of a storm. Here, she understood nothing. She looked at the flowers on the bank, sprung from her feet, and the black mud on the other side.

There was so much uncertainty in Hades, but Clarke found herself running into it willingly.

“Okay,” Clarke said.

Lexa blinked rapidly. “You’ll stay?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Clarke muttered. “I’m the bringer of chaos, right?”


	3. Seeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my betas youreterriblemuriel and decalexas for their encouragement and combing.

  


The promise of learning about the cycle of life wasn’t what had made Clarke stay, really. It had been a good excuse, a way to buy time so she could negotiate with Lexa. She was certain Lexa was hiding something and was determined to figure out what it was, even if she had no idea how anything worked in the Underworld.

Clarke thought she saw a sheepish smile on Lexa's face as they turned back toward the Styx, but the eerie silver light reflecting up onto their faces from the water made it difficult to tell. Lexa lifted her hand and Charon appeared.

"Clarke is to have free passage over the river whenever she pleases," Lexa said sternly to him.

"Of course," Charon said, bowing his head, letting his mossy hair dangle limply as he did.

"And she is to have whatever comforts from above she pleases. Food, wine, clothing. You will arrange with Hermes for it to be brought as soon as she asks."

"Yes, Lexa," Charon said.

As he bowed, Clarke was struck not by his subservience, but by his respect for Lexa. He was not bowing out of fear or duty. He was bowing because he felt serving Lexa was on honor. Had he not had such a fearsome countenance, Clarke might have asked him why.

They traveled back over the river in silence, save for the faint underwater moans beneath them. Clarke wondered if Lexa still heard them, or if she had grown so accustomed to them she didn't hear the noises of agony anymore. If that was the case, Lexa was every bit as heartless and cruel as Clarke had heard.

Clarke looked down into the silver waters, wondering how long the river was and if the souls were really there for eternity.

“They are not confined to the river. So long as they stay in Hades, they are free to move as they please," Lexa said, as though reading her thoughts.

Clarke looked up at her, curious and startled. "So why do they stay in the water?"

Lexa looked down at the river, sadness weighing on her. "They don't know anything different."

Clarke was puzzled. The Styx seemed a terrible fate, but she wondered what other options souls had. No doubt they were much less pleasant than floating through endless dark space.

"Are there other appealing options?"

Lexa's face lifted a fraction. "You'll see," she said patiently.

Remembering why she had agreed to stay in Hades in the first place, Clarke shifted, clasping her arms over her front.

They reached the muddy black bank of the opposite shore and Lexa climbed out. She offered her hand to Clarke, but Clarke didn't take it. She felt Lexa's hospitality was somehow hollow and untrustworthy. She stepped out by herself, hearing her sandals squelch in the mud, and waited for Lexa to show her which direction to go.

Lexa brought her hand back toward herself and turned, leading Clarke into the same darkness they'd journeyed before.

They had almost been swallowed up by the blackness when Clarke felt something overcome her as quickly and dramatically as a cloud blowing over the moon. She felt heavy beyond the bounds of her body. She almost stumbled to the ground.

Lexa seemed to notice and looked back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just a bit… tired…” Clarke said, struggling to find words. She felt as though all the effort of carrying the soul had manifested in her body suddenly, or as though she’d been kept awake for a fortnight.

“Of course,” Lexa said. “You should rest.”

“Where?” Clarke asked, blinking slowly. She could make out Lexa’s shape in the dark, but not much else now.

“Just a bit further,” Lexa said.

Clarke dragged her feet, feeling as though each sandal were stuck to the ground with tree sap, until finally her shins bumped into something. She slumped down on it, and it caught her. It was soft like fur, but didn’t have any trace of itch or texture to it, and beneath there seemed to be a solid frame or foundation. She lifted her head to ask where she was and what she was laying on, but sleep was rushing toward her so fiercely, she couldn’t find the energy.

“Sleep well, Clarke,” Lexa said, sounding far away.

Clarke mumbled something in response, not even sure what words she meant to form, and found herself sinking immediately into a deep sleep.

She was aware of the passing of time. She dreamed, though she only seemed to grasp fragments: Raven’s heartbroken face as she lay listless on a mossy boulder, the sound of hungry birds screaming for their mother, the wind whipping anxiously across fields when her own mother couldn’t find her. Clarke seemed to dip between dreams and plunging blackness like a swallow while her body stayed nestled in the hazy bed of the Underworld.

She awoke after many hours, unsurprised to find herself in the Underworld. She knew exactly where she was and how she’d gotten there. But she was surprised to see Lexa standing a few paces from her, her black cape falling over her shoulders and blending into the ground.

“How long have I been asleep?” Clarke asked, sitting up.

“Six days have passed on Earth,” Lexa said. “But time moves differently here. You slept as long as you needed to sleep.”

That startled Clarke. She squinted at Lexa, half because it was dark and it was difficult to make her out, but also because she was suspicious. Why had she fallen asleep so suddenly and for so long? Had Lexa done something to her to distract her from her mission?

“It’s normal,” Lexa said. “It happens to the mortals too. The stillness of the Underworld lends itself well to rest.”

Clarke looked around at the little cavern she was in. She didn’t recognize it, but it wasn’t strange. She was sitting on a pillowy bed she couldn’t quite grasp, but found quite solid beneath her. She rubbed her eyes, alert now.

“Would you like me to show you around Hades?” Lexa offered.

Clarke pursed her lips, considering. She didn’t want to give Lexa a chance to make herself seem sympathetic before she could negotiate for the soul she came down to get. She’d already wasted a week sleeping.

She didn’t know her way around, but she was sure Lexa would lead her directly away from what she was looking for.

“No thanks. I think I’ll stay here. I’m a little groggy,” Clarke said, wondering how she might navigate Hades when it seemed to rearrange itself at a mere mental suggestion.

“Very well. In that case I’m going up to Earth now.”

Clarke frowned. “Why?”

Lexa fixed her with a look that told Clarke she was going up to collect more souls.

Clarke steeled over at the reminder of the pain Lexa inflicted upon the inhabitants of Earth. Maybe she could use Lexa’s absence as an opportunity to try to figure out another way to get the soul back up to Earth.

“Have fun,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too mocking.

“I should be back in a few hours. We can eat then. Or if you’re hungry now I can bring you something.”

“You have food down here?”

“Of course,” Lexa said, head tilting in amusement. “I think you’ll find it just as satisfying as above.”

Clarke considered how she’d wept over the bodies of hares and fawns and goats on earth, sorry for the violence that ended their lives. She had tucked each one into the earth, saying a blessing over it, not realizing she was sending it down to Hades to be consumed.

“I’m not hungry,” Clarke said. She felt her stomach twist and object to the lie, but she held firm.

Lexa considered her, as though she knew Clarke was lying, then nodded and turned away, saying nothing as she disappeared into the darkness.

Clarke sat on the edge of the hazy bed, listening for Lexa’s departing footsteps, but of course there were none. She reached down to find a floor, but her hands only floated through mist. She wondered how she could be sitting on something so solid that was yet unsupported. Nothing here seemed to make sense. She almost didn’t dare get up, for fear placing her full weight where her feet were resting would send her tumbling into some endless abyss, like diving off a cliff she didn’t know was there.

She heard her heart beating loudly in her ears and closed her eyes to calm herself. She took measured, deep breaths. The air was so still she didn’t feel like she was filling her lungs with anything.

How could there be an entire realm that was made of nothing but mist and darkness, with no life or movement? She had never been somewhere without bird calls or breezes or starlight.

She remembered what Lexa said, that Hades reflected what a person believed death to be. Clarke had never imagined death, so she saw and heard and felt nothing. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a place she would want to send her smallest losses to; baby birds thrust from the nest too soon, vines too parched to cling to trees and walls in the harsh sun, rabbits snapped in the jaws of a fox. She wanted to send them somewhere they would be happy and without fear.

All at once, something seemed to lift. Around her the walls revealed themselves to be great boulders and sheets of rock, sturdy and unthreatening, a fortress of protection. There was light coming in from somewhere, but she couldn’t see where. The ground was soft, loamy soil, perfect for small paws and struggling tendrils. She could hear a trickle of water from somewhere, and that, above all else, inspired hope.

Water was life. Water was the source from which all things sprung. If there was water in Hades, there could be life.

Perhaps Hades wasn’t as desolate as she’d believed. Perhaps -- Clarke considered suddenly -- Lexa kept it purposefully obscure and dreary.

Scrawled across one of the rocks was a dried, brown vine with a few dangling seed pods. Clarke walked to it, turning the seed pod about. It was crisp and lifeless. Then she had an idea.

She took the opportunity of Lexa’s absence to experiment. She cracked open the seed pod, pouring the contents into her hand. She knelt in the soil, feeling the cool familiarity of the dirt pressing into her robes, and pushed a single seed into the soft earth. Clarke sat on the ground, feeling the earth under her legs and behind. It was warm and sympathetic. Though she knew it held no worms or even the smallest ant or beetle, she pressed her hands to it, closing her eyes and willing something to sprout.

She wanted to bring even the smallest, most pitiful sign of life to Lexa, to show her that it was possible to bring forth life and light in darkness, that Spring was as powerful as death. She pressed her hands to the ground, closed her eyes and willed a tendril to sprout, twisting its neck up to her. If she could coax one little sprout from the ground, she would have won. It would mean there was hope, that a soul could be returned to its body. She willed all her life-giving strength into the soil, imagining the seed awakening, calling it forth as an emissary of rebirth.

For the first time in Clarke’s life, nothing happened. The disobedient seed stayed dormant, lodged in the earth, refusing to sprout.

Clarke slapped her hand to the earth as though to punish it, but her hand barely made any sound as it drifted through the darkness, grasping at dirt that seemed to slip from her hand like sand or water. She got up, angry at the strange physics of the land, determined to find Raven’s lover and return to Earth where she understood how soil and water and seeds worked together.

She looked around her, wondering which direction to go. She strode off, calling for Raven’s lover in her mind as she had before her long sleep. She walked into nothingness, feeling like she would tumble forward or down at any moment.

At last her hand found a smooth wall, like marble, and she trailed her hand along it as she walked. Her footsteps were soundless, the only noise her breathing and her heartbeat. It was so loud, she longed for anything else in her ear.

She’d only been walking a short distance when things began to seem lighter around her. She could make out the hollow husks of trees and the great masses of rock. She could see dried grasses and hear them swishing against the bottom of her robes. She wondered if Hades was but a great, dark plain, where nothing grew, and space sprawled on and on beneath the crust of earth above. Gradually she made out the terrain, at once bumpy in sight but smooth beneath her sandals. More and more light appeared, silvery and cool, until she could see a few hundred paces ahead.

She pictured Raven’s lover. She even recalled his name, once insignificant to her: Chronos. She called for him in her mind, and after a few minutes of traipsing through the dry grasses, she saw the silver outline of a soul.

This time the soul was more defined. She could make out his features, his long, straight nose, the cut of his jaw, the fingers on his large hands. He looked at her for a moment, then seemed to recognize her. Before she could say anything, he took off running, the soles of his sandals flicking like fishes in a river, speeding away from her.

“Wait!” called Clarke.

But he only ran faster, and though Clarke was immortal, she was no faster than humans. She lost him, and after half an hour of looking around every tree hollow and rock and patch of dry grass, she gave up and sad down, angry and dejected. She felt her stomach rumble and remembered she hadn’t eaten in a week. She wished she’d brought some food with her.

She heard the swishing of grass and made to stand up, hoping it was Chronos, but before she could, Lexa appeared, black cloak around her shoulders, the onyx stone of her circlet making her expression even more serious and sad than it would have been otherwise.

“You’re angry,” Lexa said. She said it without judgment or surprise.

“Of course I’m angry,” Clarke snapped. “You told Chronos to run away from me.”

“I did no such thing,” Lexa said. “I do not give orders to anyone in my realm. They are free to do as they wish.”

Clarke scoffed, skeptical.

“I thought you were going up to Earth.”

“I did,” Lexa said. “I was gone for several hours. Time works differently in Hades.”

Clarke scowled.

Lexa took a step further toward Clarke, then decided against moving closer. “Are you hungry?”

Clarke felt annoyance at the way her anger drooped when Lexa offered her food; she didn’t like being distracted from her goal. But she _was_ hungry.

Of course, she didn’t want to tell Lexa that.

“No.”

Lexa pursed her lips, considering Clarke. “In that case, I’ll eat alone.” She turned to go, and Clarke regretted her lie. She really was hungry.

Lexa walked away, and Clarke almost called out to ask her where she was going, but remembered she could find her with her mind if she needed her.

Alone again, Clarke looked around. It occurred to her for the first time that she had yet to see a single soul other than Chronos. She wondered where all the other souls were. Were they all in the river? Hadn’t Lexa said they were free to roam about as they pleased? Or had that been a lie?

Clarke closed her eyes and imagined souls around her. She imagined their drooping shoulders, their faces, long and sad. She called them to her, wanting to see if they could ask her anything.

When she opened her eyes, she was startled to see dozens of souls around her. They looked almost exactly like people on Earth; she could make out every detail of their dress, every hair on their head, every sliver of nail. They emitted a faint light, like a small moon was lodged in their chest where their heart had once beat, glowing in varying shades of silver and gray.

One little girl, no older than ten, walked up to Clarke. Her face betrayed curiosity, but no fear. Clarke was startled when she spoke. It sounded like the girl was speaking to her from behind a pane of glass or sheet of water.

“Who are you?”

“I’m -- uh -- you might know me as Persephone,” Clarke said, trying not to mumble the name she didn’t like. “You can call me Clarke.”

“My name’s Agatha. Are you from Earth?”

Clarke nodded. “I’m in charge of Spring.”

“You’re so colorful,” the little girl said, looking in awe at the pink of Clarke’s skin and the yellow of her hair.

“Oh- thank you,” Clarke said. Clarke realized that even in her white robes she was the most colorful thing she could see.

“How long have you been here?” Clarke asked.

“Um…” The girl looked around, seeming confused for a while. “We don’t measure time the same way you do on Earth. It’s a little hard without the sun,” she giggled. “But I’ve been here a while. Long enough that I’m all here.” She looked down at her fingers and toes, wiggling them with pride.

“All here?”

“When a person first gets here, they’re kind of blurry. You can’t see their face very well. They’re just soft light. But the longer they stay, the more they begin to look like their true selves. Truer than they were on Earth, even. Their inner beauty can be seen more clearly.”

Now Clarke understood why she hadn’t been able to see Chronos clearly at first.

“What’s it like down here?” Clarke asked, lowering her voice as though to elicit an honest response from Agatha.

“It’s perfect,” Agatha said, her face turning happy and serene. “That’s why no one leaves.”

Clarke was startled to hear that. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Agatha shrugged. “There’s no suffering. We don’t know pain or hunger or longing. We just rest and enjoy each other’s company.”

“What about Lexa?”

Agatha’s smile widened, but grew sad at the same time. “We love her.”

Clarke studied the girl’s gray face, trying to detect any hint of uncertainty or duress. But she found none in the childlike joy there.

“When I was dying I was so scared and sad. She made me feel safe. She brought me here and made sure I was comfortable and came to visit me whenever I needed soothing. She always knew. Nowadays I don’t see her much. But you’d have a hard time finding anyone here that has something bad to say about her.”

Clarke was skeptical. If everyone in Hades loved Lexa, why was she so reviled on Earth and Olympus? It didn’t make sense. She wanted to speak to Lexa, to get some answers, and perhaps a bit of food.

Her stomach growled at the thought.

“I need to go look for someone,” Clarke said distractedly.

Agatha smiled up at her as she stood, waving as Clarke looked around, wondering which direction Lexa had gone. Then she remembered all she had to do was call Lexa forth in her mind and she would appear.

Clarke closed her eyes, imagining Lexa, picturing her black cloak and the shining onyx stone in her circlet. She pictured the serious set of her mouth and her sad, dark eyes.

When Clarke opened her own eyes, the silver light had turned to warm candlelight, and she found herself sitting in a tall-backed chair before a table. Before her was a small but nourishing meal: meat and fruit and nuts and wine. Across from her, not far away, was Lexa. She took a sip of wine and said, “I’m glad you joined me.”

Clarke wasn’t sure if she was mocking her.

“Please, eat your fill,” Lexa said, gesturing to the plates before them.

Clarke opened her mouth to protest that she wasn’t hungry again, but thought better of it. She didn’t want to have to cross the Styx and climb all those stairs just to get food, or even ask Charon to have something brought to her. Instead she just said, “You said you would explain the cycle to me.”

Lexa’s eyebrows lifted, then settled as she put down her glass.

“Of course.” She smoothed her fingers over the edge of the table and gazed at Clarke with a look that was both piercing and soft.

“My agreement with Zeus was that I would maintain the end of the cycle. I care for the dead and offer them comfort and rest.”

“Why?”

“Nothing can bloom forever.”

Clarke thought up to the fields and forests of earth and realized Lexa was right. She’d never considered what happened to the flowers she created once they wilted. She supposed they evaporated like dew in the sun. But she knew that wasn’t possible. Nothing could be destroyed completely. Even things consumed in fire left ash and smoke.

Lexa gave Clarke a moment to think. “I care for things after they have bloomed,” Lexa said. “People, creatures, plants. All things once beautiful or terrible are at peace here.”

“And they can’t return to Earth,” Clarke said, an edge of challenge in her voice.

“Not in their previous form, no.”

“You said you’ve tried to resurrect people before.”

Lexa looked surprised that Clarke had picked up on what she’d said at the river. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

Lexa’s eyes drifted around the darkness. She looked sad beyond her usual somber expression.

“She was not the person I’d known before.”

Clarke paused, taking in Lexa’s demeanor. She recognized some of the hollowness she’d felt in Raven before she’d journeyed down to Hades.

She felt a sudden spinning of worlds, as though Hades had been turned on its head. Earth seemed far away and full of falsehoods.

The woman before her was not a cruel and uncaring zealot of death. As Agatha has said, she was full of compassion and sorrow and yearning.

That, and she had the unmistakable mark of Eros on her.

“You loved her.”

Lexa’s eyes fell in admission.

Clarke saw a crack in Lexa’s stony insistence that souls couldn’t be returned to their bodies.

Clarke leaned toward her. “My friend Raven fell in love with a mortal too. I came down here to retrieve him so they could be together again.”

Lexa looked up, a hint of alarm on her face. “Your friend sent you to Hades to beg for a soul?”

Clarke sat back and crossed her arms. “I don’t recall begging.”

Lexa fixed her with a look.

“She doesn’t know I’m here.”

Lexa looked at her in wonder. “Perhaps I misjudged you.”

Clarke straightened up, flattered but still skeptical.

“You are a loyal friend, Clarke. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

“I still don’t understand why you can’t.”

Lexa paused, then lifted her hand from where it rested on the arm of her chair. Instantly, Chronos appeared beside the table, looking windswept, though no breeze brushed Clarke’s skin. She was startled by his sudden appearance.

“Chronos” Lexa said gently. “Clarke here tells me you had a lover on Earth.”

“I did,” the man said. “Raven.” A smile spread wide across his face, as though the thought of Raven brought him boundless joy. Clarke recognized it as the same smile Raven had when speaking of him.

“Clarke has come down here to take you back to her.”

The man’s expression turned apprehensive. “Oh…”

“I’ve told her that isn’t possible, but she is determined to prove me wrong.”

Clarke was startled by the bluntness with which Lexa spoke, but nothing she said was untrue.

Chronos turned toward Clarke, backing away. “Don’t take me back,” he murmured. “I love Raven, but that isn’t reason enough to leave.”

Lexa lifted her hand toward him in a gesture of reassurance and comfort.

Clarke puzzled at his sudden shift in demeanor.

“Can you explain to Clarke why?”

Chronos sighed. “I can no more go back to being alive than anyone, mortal or otherwise, can travel back through time.”

“What about Raven?” Clarke asked, bewildered that he was so reluctant to leave. “She’s devastated. You could fix that.”

Chronos shook his head. “All she would ever see in me is death and pain. The joy we had is gone.”

“Don’t you love her?”

“Of _course_. As much as any mortal has ever loved, but love without joy is agony, sweet Persephone. I hope you understand.”

Clarke didn’t, but took his unwillingness as a defeat.

Lexa thanked him and he faded into the darkness.

“I would not lie to you, Clarke,” Lexa said gently. She took a bite of food, glancing up at Clarke, then swallowed. “Please eat if you’re hungry.”

This time Clarke didn’t protest. Though she had every intention of returning to Earth immediately, she didn’t want to attempt to climb the steps back up to the forest without sustenance.

She ate freely. Figs and date palms and aged cheeses. And wine. Wine that would have made Dionysus pause. Bread and butter and stuffed pheasant. She ate and ate until she realized Lexa was sitting there watching her. Nothing else moved or made sound except for her own chewing.

The silence of the underworld was unlike anything Clarke had heard before. It wasn’t tense and cavernous like the caves and canyons of earth. It was warm and soft and cushioning, as though Clarke was resting her head on soft moss.

“Is there no music in the Underworld?”

“The muses do not permit it.”

Lexa’s eyes rested purposefully on Clarke’s face.

Then Clarke felt something soft wrap around her, easing her away from the flurry of Spring and her eagerness to return to Earth. There was no need to create or grow or tend to anything. There was only space and a graceful urge to rest.

Clarke’s thoughts settled. Her heart settled. Her body settled.

She had never felt so comfortable, so at peace. All the worries and sharp concerns about Earth were muffled, as though she were wrapped in a dark, warm gauze. She didn’t want to move, lest it evaporate from her.

“What is that?” she asked, looking around, trying to determine the source of the calm that had overtaken her. “Are _you_ doing that?”

“No,” Lexa said. “I feel it too.”

“What is it?”

“Death is not always violent and demanding, though it can be,” Lexa said softly. “Peace has always been part of the cycle.”

Clarke didn’t think her question had been answered, but Lexa seemed to think otherwise.

There was a long, peaceful moment that stretched between them, and Clarke struggled to hold onto the shreds of anger and resentment she had toward Lexa. The peacefulness cocooning them together seemed to dissolve her doubt and defeat over not being able to retrieve Chronos.

“Come with me tomorrow,” Lexa said. “You can see for yourself what I do for the living.”

Clarke took it as a challenge.

Never one to back away from a challenge, Clarke found herself nodding. “Okay,” she said.

Lexa’s face smoothed and a smile hinted at the corners of her mouth. She rose, bowing her head almost imperceptibly as she did. “Until tomorrow, then.” And with that she floated out of the room into the blackness.

  



	4. Mercy

Clarke awoke in her same strange bed with the same odd sense of peacefulness wrapped around her. Upon opening her eyes, she saw a large bird of prey perched above her, staring down at her. Its eyes bore an intensity that had become familiar to her since arriving in the Underworld.

It was a strange bird, one she’d never seen before. Its body was dark, either brown or black, with a humped back and large wings. But what captivated her most was the plumage on its head; all colors of green and blue with flecks of purple and yellow, not unlike the peacock feathers worn by worshippers of Dionysus. It was majestic and large, and Clarke wondered how long it had been watching her.

She rose, looking around her at her little cavern, taking in the dead vines and barren soil. She looked at the spot where she’d tried to grow the seed; nothing had changed since the day before. She could make out more of the things around her, and she wondered if it was because she was becoming more accustomed to the Underworld. If so, she wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

Not knowing where else to meet Lexa, she willed herself to the riverbank to wait for her. It seemed a logical meeting place. She opened her eyes and saw the strange soft silver glow, the soft swirling shapes of souls flowing before her, the black mud sticking to her sandals. She took it in, hearing the cries fainter now. She wondered if Charon would appear, and hoped he wouldn’t.

She saw a figure on the other side of the river and squinted to make it out in the dim light. It was shorter than Charon, with less mass to its form. Squinting further, she saw it was not one figure, but three huddled close together on the far bank, reaching into the water.

Clarke’s breath caught when she saw them grab hold of a soul and heave it out of the water, holding it up as it dripped and wailed. The figures conferred for a moment before the soul was released. But rather than flop down into the river like a fish, the soul floated up, weightless, and then as though it was being sucked into the air, it flew in a silver blur up the stairs and out of sight.

Clarke was furious; Lexa had told her that souls could not leave Hades, and yet she had just seen it happen. She felt a strange breeze on her neck - the first breeze she’d felt in the Underworld - and whirled around to see what it was.

The bird that had been watching her sleep was behind her, perched on a craggy rock. She scowled at it, feeling spied upon.

Lexa emerged, graceful as she stepped out of the dark, her onyx circlet shining with the reflection of the river.

“Did you send this bird after me?” Clarke asked, jabbing toward the creature.

“I asked him to let me know when you were awake. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”

“Well, _thanks_ ,” Clarke said with spite. She turned back to the river, pointing, ready to accuse Lexa of lying to her, but Lexa spoke first.

“Those are the Fates,” Lexa said.

Clarke had heard of the Fates, but hadn’t imagined them as actual people; she imagined them like wind or storms or the cover of night.

“What are they doing?”

“They’re bringing a soul back up to Earth.”

“But you said-”

“It will have a new vessel. A new identity.”

“So-”

“It will not remember anything about its previous life or its time here.”

Now Clarke felt foolish. She didn’t know why she was so eager to prove Lexa was lying to her. Perhaps she wanted a justification for why she felt so uneasy in the presence of someone so calm and thoughtful. It didn’t make sense to her.

“I do not decide which souls are chosen. I keep them for the Fates to do with as they wish. I am their servant.”

Clarke thought the idea of Lexa as a servant was odd; she was so regal and poised. And yet she thought back to the little girl she’d spoken to the day before, who had said that The Dead all loved Lexa, that she treated them with kindness and compassion.

Clarke looked at Lexa; the weight resting on her shoulders, the sorrow weeping off her, the heaviness of her onyx-stoned circlet, and realized that Lexa considered herself a servant of all things, living and dead.

The bird alighted on Lexa’s shoulder gently, its colorful head nuzzling against her hair, letting out a noise almost like a purr.

“Do you still want to come with me up to Earth today?”

Clarke thought for a moment of changing her mind, of trying one last time to take Chronos back up to Raven, but let the thought pass like one of the souls in the river.

“I do.”

Lexa gave a small nod.

“Seeing what I do might help you understand my part of the cycle.”

Clarke nodded in return and followed Lexa as she stepped toward the river, not having noticed Charon making his way toward them.

Lexa was quiet again in the boat, reaching up a few times to pat the bird’s wing as it clung to her. As they climbed the stairs toward the forest, there was no sound but their breath. It was such a long, tiresome journey, Clarke found herself wishing she had asked for food before they left. But they would find food in the forest; she had seen fruit trees and berries and roots on her way here.

When they were halfway up to Earth, Lexa stopped, pressing her hand against the rock beside them. It dissolved, and she looked back to see that Clarke was following her. She led Clarke into a warm space lit by what looked like candle light, and Clarke recognized the smell of fresh, dry hay.

Clarke startled at the sound of a loud snort.

“My horses,” Lexa said.

The light seemed to grow brighter around Lexa as she made her way to a stall, reaching a gentle hand up to stroke the nose of a coal-black stallion. The bird on her shoulder lifted off and perched in the rafters, watching as Lexa greeted her horses. She was so tender with them, Clarke felt as though she were intruding on a personal ritual.

But Lexa motioned for Clarke to come stand by her and pet the horses’ noses, to feel their gusting breath from their large nostrils, the wiry hair of their coats. Lexa introduced each one by name; Orphnaeus, Aethon, Nyctaeus, and Alastor. She knew their birthplaces and which particular tree from above bore the apple they liked best; which one was likely to startle at the sight of a cat or the shot of an arrow; which one was invigorated by thunder and which by sun.

Clarke stroked the nose of each one, admiring their shiny black coats covering their sinew and muscles. They were as gentle as Lexa, batting long eyelashes sleepily as Clarke warmed to them.

“Horses are the wisest of animals,” Lexa said. “They can sense discontent and malice in the air.”

Clarke stroked Nyctaeus’ nose cautiously, wondering what he knew about her.

“They’re gentle but also strong. I wouldn’t want any other animal to pull my chariot.”

The horse she was petting nuzzled and kissed Lexa’s hand, as though eager for the bit Lexa slipped into his mouth as she bridled him.

Lexa opened the stalls one by one, bridling and leading the horses to where a beechwood chariot stood. She hitched them together, then reached out to Clarke, offering to help her up into the chariot. Clarke drew up her shirts and stepped up without assistance, taking up as little space as she could as Lexa stepping in after her. The bird flew down from the rafters and perched on Lexa’s shoulder once again.

Lexa drew up the reins and gave a hearty tug, letting out a sudden shout that startled Clarke. Lexa was so soft and moved so gracefully, hearing such a commanding yell from her was unexpected. The horses lurched in unison, pulling the chariot into the darkness as Clarke gripped the edge, hanging on as they built up speed.

They rode through the darkness for some time, Clarke wondering what they were passing and where they would emerge. Finally, she saw a faint light in the distance, as though they were nearing the end of a tunnel. Then the light burst suddenly, and Clarke was overwhelmed by the brightness and noise of Earth. Helios, high above in the sky, seemed to have brought his Sun Chariot closer to Earth, so that the light scorched Clarke’s eyes and warmed her skin. They were in a field, grasses whipping around them, plunging toward a forest where tiny birds screamed in their nests and the crackle of leaves and twigs beneath the wheels of the chariot was deafening. Clarke almost clapped her hands over her ears but didn’t want to look foolish in front of Lexa, who seemed undisturbed by the light and sound. Perhaps she was used to such transition.

As they tore through the forest, Clarke was elated to be surrounded by the familiar. The bird on Lexa’s shoulder spread its mighty wings and soared above. Clarke was startled to see that the beautiful feathers that had covered its head had all but melted away, leaving raw, red flesh surrounding its beady black eyes.

“What happened to it?” Clarke asked.

“It’s a vulture,” Lexa said. “It appears different on Earth than in the Underworld.”

Clarke had seen vultures before, but never up close.

“You bring a bird of prey with you to collect souls?”

Lexa cast her a steely gaze as she held the reins firmly. “Vultures are not birds of prey. They feast only on what is already dead. They are a vital part of the cycle.”

Clarke considered this, realizing Lexa was right. Vultures picked the meat off creatures that would otherwise have been left to rot.

The forest thinned, and Clarke saw a village in the distance. When they reached the edge, Lexa tied her horses to a tree, giving each a pat on the nose, and walked on foot into the land of mortals.

Clarke hung back, unsure. When Lexa turned back to encourage her, she looked puzzled. Not wanting to seem childish or afraid, Clarke rushed to catch up to her.

Clarke had never walked amongst mortals. Her mother had forbidden it, and Clarke had assumed it was because they were dangerous or poorly behaved. The people that moved around them were not unlike the gods and goddesses of Olympus. They were less comely and their garments were tattered and worn, their skin roughened and wrinkled by Helios, their backs stooped with decades of work and toil, but their forms were familiar.  They were working hard, speaking to each other the same way the Gods spoke, and bustling about with more purpose than Clarke ever saw on Olympus.

Clarke looked around at the strange mortal world, wondering why she and Lexa weren’t attracting any attention before she realized the mortals couldn’t see them. They passed as though Lexa were invisible, seeming to step out of the way on instinct.

“Where are we going?” Clarke asked.

Lexa didn’t respond, only kept winding her way through the streets.

Clarke took the opportunity to study her in the light. She seemed smaller and less foreboding. Her cloak shone in the light, and when Clarke looked down, she saw there was no edge to the cloak. It faded into mist, such that she couldn’t tell where the cloak stopped and the ground started.

Lexa led the way to a hut on the far edge of the city. She opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it ajar so that Clarke could see what she was doing inside.

Clarke was struck with horror when she saw a woman in labor on the floor. She was white as a sheet and her head lolled back, eyes drifting back into her head. She was held up only by the strength of the women gripping her arms. There was fluid and blood soaking into the dirt, and the women supporting her on the birthing bricks seemed frantic. The midwife was chanting and willing strength into her but was resigned.

Lexa stood there for a few minutes before she stepped forward, reaching toward the squatting woman, and wrapped her arms around her as tenderly as she could.

Clarke saw her whisper something into the woman’s ear, something soft and private. When she finished speaking, she held the woman as close as she could, as though trying to absorb her.

The woman went limp in her sisters’ grip as Clarke saw something lift out of her body and cling to Lexa. It was like a thin veil of mist or fog, and it was only visible for a moment before Lexa’s body seemed to absorb it. The women helping the birthing woman became frantic, shaking her and crying out. They wailed as Lexa stood and pressed her hand to her heart, closed her eyes, and moved her lips in a silent epitaph.

Lexa moved back toward Clarke. When their eyes met, Lexa’s were heavy.

“I’m sorry that was your first,” she said as they stepped back into the light. “I had hoped you might see a less violent passage.”

“What about the baby?” Clarke asked, fearing for the life still within the woman’s body.

“She will survive,” Lexa said.

“How do you know?”

“Did you not see the midwife reach for her knife?” Lexa asked.

Clarke shuddered. She knew mortals were born in suffering and violence, but she’d never seen it.

“The next one will be difficult as well,” Lexa said. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to watch, but it is part of the cycle you wanted to understand.”

Clarke bit the inside of her lip before nodding. “I can take it,” she said. “You’re just doing your job.”

Lexa’s eyes rested on her a moment longer than Clarke expected, and Clarke wondered Lexa had more to say. But she turned and led Clarke back to the chariot, and the horses carried them to another village.

This time they entered the house of a wealthy man and his family. In an upstairs room, a boy of no more than seven or eight years lay against clean linens. He looked sickly and feverish, and when a man pulled back a sheet to examine a wound, Clarke saw that his leg had been crushed, the flesh and bone mangled together in yellows and greens and blacks. The boy struggled to breathe as his body fought to rid itself of the infection.

“Oh…” Clarke said, putting her hands to her face in horror.

Lexa stepped toward him with urgency, bending over the bed, pressing her chest to his as she embraced him. Clarke strained her ear to hear what she whispered, but the words were only meant for the boy. The strain in his face loosened and he relaxed into the sheets, fighting for breath no more.

When Lexa stood, Clarke saw the same silver-gray mist lift off his body and cling to her before being absorbed. She bent her head and gave her epitaph, while the doctor clucked in dismay, pressing his fingers to the boy’s wrist before lifting the sheet over his head.

Clarke felt frozen to the floor. She had never witnessed such gruesome injury or suffering. She understood now why her mother had forbidden her to enter the mortal world.

Lexa took Clarke’s hand, pulling her out of the room firmly and back into the light.

“That was _terrible_ ,” Clarke said, putting a hand to her stomach as though she might retch.

Lexa looked surprised. “Why do you say that?”

“His leg…” Clarke said. “He was so sick. He was just a little boy.”

Lexa stilled, realizing Clarke was distraught. She turned to comfort her. “He’s not suffering anymore.”

“Do all mortals die like that?” Clarke asked. She couldn’t believe such a cruel world existed.

Lexa bit her lips. “Many do. But not all.”

Clarke didn’t know what that meant, but she was eager for a distraction.

“Come with me to one more place,” Lexa urged her.

Clarke didn’t know if she could stomach it. She was thinking of asking Lexa to take her back to her mother’s garden. But the pleading look in Lexa’s eyes made her reconsider.

“Okay.”

Lexa gave a timid smile and continued walking through the streets.

As they entered the heart of the city, Clarke saw buildings unlike any she’d seen before. Tall stone buildings with carvings and pillars and steps falling down from their doors like water. One in particular caught her eye, and she veered toward it as they walked. She wanted to more closely examine the statue on the pinnacle of its roof.

When she could make out what it was, she was stunned to see it was _her_. A giant, hand-carved depiction of her robed body, a hand lifted to her cheek as she looked dazedly out over the streets. Her Olympian name was carved on the building below it.

“What is this?” Clarke asked, turning toward Lexa.

“Your temple,” Lexa said.

“My _what_?”

Lexa looked at her, blinking and confused. “Have you not seen this before?”

“My mother forbade me to walk among mortals…”

Lexa seemed offended on Clarke’s behalf. “Does she not want you to know how beloved you are? How powerful?”

Clarke gaped at Lexa, baffled.

“The mortals worship you,” Lexa said. “To them, you signify hope and fertility and abundance.”

“Do they worship _you_?”

“Only in moments of desperation. They fear me. It’s different. In their minds, you are the antithesis of everything they believe I am.”

Clarke looked back at her temple, hungry to know what happened inside. But she knew Lexa had a soul to collect, and thinking of the two tortured mortals they’d collected today, she didn’t want to prolong their agony.

“How long until you have to collect the next soul?” Clarke asked anxiously.

Lexa gave a calm smile. “He can wait a while longer if you want to go inside.”

Clarke studied the face of the temple for a moment longer before picking up her skirts and taking the steps one by one.

Inside she was hit by a strong, heartening incense. She heard music and singing as women in clean white robes danced in a circle in the center of the temple around a girl dressed all in white.

It was so beautiful, Clarke almost started to cry. When she realized they were singing to _her_ , she didn’t know what to make of it.

Did mortals really see her as such a beacon of hope?

As she watched, the women broke their circle, each taking a turn to give the girl in the center something; a crown of flowers, an anointing with oils, a silver chalice, a candle. They seemed to be blessing her with talismans, though for what Clarke didn’t know.

When they were finished, two priestesses brought forth a young man. They led him to where the young woman stood, placing their hands upon each other, and formed a larger ring around them and began singing and chanting. The temple seemed filled to the brim with glorious sound.

“What are they doing?” Clarke murmured, not able to take her eyes off the ritual to look at Lexa.

“This is a wedding ceremony.”

“Wedding ceremony?”

“Your priestesses are binding their hands and souls together in marriage.”

“My _priestesses_?”

Lexa nodded, looking on the ceremony with reverence.

“Oh…” Clarke said in awe.

“Having the ceremony in your temple is considered good luck,” Lexa said. “The couple hopes to be blessed with the fertility and prosperity you signify. They want a large family and healthy crops.”

“But… I know nothing of marriage or babies.”

Lexa smiled wryly. “They don’t know that.” She paused for a moment before adding quietly, “Mortals and Gods alike believe many things that are not true.”

Clarke stared for a while longer, perplexed, as the young couple was led through the marriage ritual by the priestesses. Their hands were tied together with ceremonial cloth, they drank wine from a sacred goblet, their feet were washed in grain by the priestesses.

When it was over, Clarke looked to Lexa even more confused about the ways of earth. She looked to the door and Lexa smiled, leading her back out into the street.

“That was… interesting,” Clarke said. “I didn’t know…”

Lexa was quiet as she made her way toward the chariot. When they were almost there she said, “What you saw there was a part of the cycle too.”

Clarke looked at her, head still swimming with questions, and climbed into the chariot.

They flew over land faster than Clarke could track. They plunged into a forest and forded a stream. At last, they came to a tiny village, with only a handful of houses built close together in a clearing near a pond. Lexa tethered her horses by the water so they could drink and walked slowly, purposefully toward one of the houses.

Clarke was afraid of what she would see. The agony and helplessness she’d seen on the other dying mortals’ faces were burned into her memory. But she didn’t want Lexa to think she couldn’t stomach the collection of souls. She walked bravely onward, stepping into a woodcutter's cottage.

Inside an old man was lying on a straw mat, his face waxy and gray. He had only a wisp of hair. Clarke imagined he had once been strong enough to wield an ax, but now he looked so weak he could barely lift a cup to his lips.

Lexa neared the mat and sat down. To Clarke’s surprise, the man opened his eyes and smiled.

“Hello,” he said. His voice wavered and caught in his throat.

“Hello,” Lexa said, a gentle smile spreading across her face.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” the man said.

“I had to stop at the temple of Persephone for a while,” Lexa said, reaching forward to take the man’s hand. “There was a ceremony I wanted to see.”

“Good, good,” the man tutted, closing his eyes for a moment to gather strength. “Was it a nice one?”

“The nicest,” Lexa said. “It reminded me of the beauty this realm holds.”

The man hummed in agreement. “Such beauty…” He stilled completely, and for a moment Clarke thought he was dead. Then he sucked in air and opened his eyes again.

“So when are you going to show me where you live?” he asked, with a tired smile. “I’ve been wondering about it for so long.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Lexa said gently.

The man grew weary again and closed his eyes. “I’ve had quite a life on Earth… but I think… I think… I’m ready.”

Lexa gave his hand a squeeze, taking in the lines on his face as though recalling every moment that had brought him joy.

“Okay.”

She leaned down, whispering in his ear, drawing him into her arms. His head dropped to the side, heavy, but the expression on his face was of utmost peace and contentment.

Lexa held him for a long moment, then lifted as the silvery shadow passed from his body to hers. She held his hand for a long time, regarding him with honor, before standing and whispering an epitaph.

Clarke was in awe. All her confusion and fluster had been wiped away.

Lexa turned toward her. She was solemn as ever, but her face was calmer than Clarke had ever seen it, the weight on her shoulders lifted.

The sudden, overwhelming feeling of calm Clarke had felt several times in the Underworld settled over her again, weighty and warm as a blanket. This time, Clarke knew what it was.

“Mercy,” she breathed. The quiet she felt, the peace and gratitude and relief she had discovered in corners of the Underworld was Mercy.

Lexa gave a single, slow nod.

“You bring mercy to the suffering,” Clarke said. She lifted her hand toward Lexa, a pitiful apology for every accusation and assumption that Lexa was vindictive and ruthless.

Clarke finally understood; Lexa was not a demanding God. Her realm was no more sinister or callous than Zeus’. If anything, it was more peaceful; no one was forced to bear the agony of the mortal world day after day.

“But- if you can be merciful, why not take _all_ lives mercifully?”

Lexa’s eyes fell. She took in the still air slowly, shoulders heavy again.

“Your mother is the goddess of the harvest, is she not?”

Clarke nodded.

“Can all fruit be harvested the same way?”

Clarke hesitated but shook her head, unsure what Lexa meant.

“Separating every bit of wheat from the chaff in tenderness would be impossible,” Lexa said, fixing Clarke with a meaningful look.

“So how do you choose the ones that must be cut down in violence and pain?”

“The Fates choose. I’m merely their servant.”

Clarke chewed on that thought.

“Wait - why could he see you when no one else can?” she asked, looking at the old man’s resting body.

“Because he is not afraid of me. To him, I am a friend,” Lexa said.

“How… how do you do it?” Clarke asked. She wasn’t sure if she was asking how Lexa went about extracting a soul, or by what fortitude she was able to witness human suffering day after day after day without hardening like an animal hide in the sun or sand crushed into rock by the weight of the sea.

“I give mercy where I can. With others, I ensure they are honored when they arrive in Hades, that they are comfortable in their new home. I am their servant until they are called back up to Earth.”

Clarke realized Lexa has been given an impossible task. She was so overcome with admiration and pity, she faltered. Lexa’s arm darted forward to catch her.

“Can we… go back to Hades now?” Clarke asked.

“You want to come back with me?” Lexa asked, quiet and surprised.

Clarke nodded, exhausted, thinking only of the restfulness Hades promised.

“Of course we can return,” Lexa said. “You must be tired and hungry.”

Clarke looked around dazedly as Lexa guided her back to the chariot. Once Clarke was settled in the solid wood, she realized everything she’d ever been told about death was a lie.


	5. Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the penultimate chapter, guys. You'll have the final installment before Christmas. Happy holidays!
> 
> Thanks to my beta @youreterriblemuriel for her fine edits.

After brushing her horses and making sure they had fresh water and hay, Lexa guided Clarke down the rest of the steps toward the Styx. Clarke was so tired she scarcely registered Charon and his boat; after several trips over the river, he didn’t seem fearsome. He seemed rather like a lumbering, ugly dog that would follow its master to the end of the world.

On the other side, Lexa bade Clarke goodnight and Clarke used the last of her energy to will herself into that soft, hazy room where she’d slept previously. She felt herself cushioned in darkness and closed her eyes, welcoming sleep.

This time, her mind ran swiftly, pulled like a chariot through images she wasn’t sure were real.

She saw the mortals, bustling about their lives, oblivious to Lexa’s presence yet fearing her enough to part as she walked through the streets. She saw her own temple, clean and shining and filled with music and incense and dancing girls in white robes.

But this time there were cries of agony coming from her temple. Women wept, babies cried, and men flung themselves on the steps in desperation. The white robes of her priestesses were muddied and limp, and the music no longer seemed joyful.

People were suffering and looking to her for help.

Clarke wanted to will herself awake so that she might rush to her temple, to provide comfort and hope. But before she could, she saw Lexa as she had been long ago: a happy, radiant Goddess dressed in midnight blue and gold, walking through the forest in daylight holding the hand of a mortal girl with long, black hair and moss green robes. They spoke in low murmurs, such that Clarke couldn’t hear them, but the smile on Lexa’s face told her everything she needed to know.

Lexa had loved this mortal girl.

Then she saw Lexa as she was now, sitting in her throne, leaning to one side as she stared absently down the cascading steps, pensive and sad in the darkness. In one hand Lexa held a shining braid, black as the onyx of her throne and circlet, tied with a green ribbon. Lexa’s eyes were sad, though she didn’t cry. Clarke wondered if Lexa ever cried.

Clarke had not seen these things with her eyes; the images seemed delivered to her purposefully, indicators of something to be known. Lexa spent her existence serving the dead with more respect and compassion than could be found on Earth or Olympus combined. What had she sacrificed so that she might serve, Clarke wondered?

Clarke saw other unfamiliar things; Raven, still sad, but not anguished as she walked into Demeter’s garden, twisting a tomato off the vine as she walked through the greenery. Clarke saw the plants were drooping, their leaves withering and their fruits dropping to the ground. Clouds were covering the sun that usually shone so radiantly onto the garden. She saw her mother rushing toward Raven, looking frantic as she clutched at Raven’s hands.

_Have you seen Persephone?_

_Helios saw her a few days ago._

_Where is she?_

_She is with Hades._

Demeter paled, fearful, then clouded over with a hatred and darkness Clarke had never seen.

Raven backed away, not recognizing the vindictive expression on Demeter’s face.

A harsh wind blew across the garden. It howled and clouds gathered, and a heavy rain began to fall, turning into sleet, then hail.

The storm swelled and cast itself out beyond the garden, over mortal crops and villages, tearing down new life that had spring from Clarke’s visit to Earth with Lexa. Clarke wanted to call out to her mother stop it, but Demeter would not be soothed. The storm turned cloudy and white, until all of Earth was covered in thick, muffling snow. Plants froze and died, people went hungry, and still Demeter spun in icy agony.

_Hades has stolen my daughter!_

Clarke startled awake, suffocated by the stillness of her Underworld retreat. She knew with a visceral certainty that the balance of Earth had been knocked off course, and that she was the only person who could restore it. Without Spring to give new life, crops could not flourish. People were hungry and cold and fearful.

She was hit with a forceful pang of hunger and clutched at her stomach. If this was how the people of Earth were feeling, she needed to go to them now, offering comfort and hope the way Lexa gave Mercy to the dying.

She saw a tray of food beside her bed; bread and olives and fruit laid out for her consumption when she woke. She ate the bread and olives quickly, then broke open a pomegranate. She held half in her hand, looking down at it. The compartments looked like a heart, the rubied beads flowing through its ventricles. She thought of  Lexa’s heart, how it had loved a mortal girl once, and stood, sweeping through the mist on soft feet, and willed her way to the cavern that held Lexa’s throne.

Lexa was sitting there, exactly as she’d appeared in Clarke’s dream, and for a moment Clarke wondered if she was still dreaming. Lexa was solemn and beautiful as ever. She took her in for only a moment before her eagerness to know the truth propelled her up the steps.

“She was your lover, wasn’t she?” Clarke said.

Lexa looked up, curious.

“The mortal you tried to resurrect. The one Zeus wanted. You loved her.”

Lexa settled her eyes in her lap, looking at the very braid Clarke had seen in her dream. “I was banished to this realm so I could not be with her, so Zeus could have her all to himself.”

“Did she love him?”

“No more than prey loves the hunter.”

Clarke stared, waiting for Lexa to explain.

“Your father takes what he wants, Clarke. Even when the person he wants is unwilling. I did what I had to do to protect her.”

Clarke’s eyes went wide, understanding what Lexa meant. The fatigued anger in Lexa’s eyes told her everything.

“And you couldn’t protect her on Earth… so you brought her here.”

Lexa blinked and took a slow, heavy breath. “It is only fitting that I should know the suffering of mortals who lose their lovers.”

“But you’re _merciful_ ,” Clarke argued. “You shouldn’t have to suffer. You’re just doing your part-”

Clarke stopped, a thought hitting her between the eyes.

“Is she here?”

“Who?”

“The girl.”

“No,” Lexa said. Her face showed sadness, but also relief. “She was reborn.”

Clarke stumbled. “But-- you said souls couldn’t be paired with their bodies again once they die.”

“They can’t. As you saw yesterday, sometimes the Fates call upon a soul to inhabit a new form. An animal or tree or flower.”

“What did she become?”

“A doe,” Lexa said with a soft smile, as though it brought her peace. “Mother of three beautiful fawns.”

Clarke thought of the many fawns she had watched take their first steps on scrawny legs, of the mothers who cared for them with such devotion. She wondered if anyone had ever watched over Lexa like that.

“Is she still alive?”

“No,” Lexa said. “The Fates may give new life to a soul, but they can’t change some things. And as she was felled by Zeus as a mortal, so was she killed by a hunter as a deer.”

Lexa paused, eyes distant as she stared into the darkness around them.

“Perhaps in her next life she will finally win the chase and be allowed to rest eternally.”

“And you could be together,” Clarke finished.

Lexa shook her head. “She would not remember me. Much time has passed…” She looked distant for a moment, but warm.

“Do you still love her?”

Lexa’s smile was tender now. “All things heal with time, even in the Underworld. I was just remembering the joy.” She looked down at the braid in her lap, then set it into the darkness beside her throne.

As the braid disappeared, Clarke remembered what she had come to tell Lexa. She was even more reluctant now. She took a step toward Lexa.

But Lexa spoke first. “You must return above.”

Clarke was startled. “How did you know?”

“Your commitment to the balance of Earth is no different than mine. You belong to the Earth.”

“As do you.”

“The Underworld is not the Earth.”

“There is no Earth without the Underworld to keep it in balance. I know that now.”

Clarke gazed down at Lexa, pained to see her so sad.

“Come with me.”

Leax shook her head. “I cannot.”

“Zeus can’t keep you down here. I’ll talk to him. He’s my father.”

“You’re driven to fix everything, Clarke. But even if I wanted to journey up to Earth for something other than my duties, I am not even welcome among my sisters.”

“Sisters?”

“Those who prefer the company of women. They have inhabited an island miles off the coast of mortal mainland for decades.”

“Why won’t they let you visit?”

Lexa fixed Clarke with a look. “If you had created a perfect society for yourself, would you invite Death to visit?”

“But you’re not Death… you just bring souls here and keep the peaceful cycle going.”

Lexa blinked a few times, and Clarke wondered if she was surprised to hear Clarke defend her, even in private.

Clarke lifted her hand to Lexa’s cheek. She had seen the Mercy that lived within Lexa, and now she could not see anything else.

Lexa melted at her touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she savored the warmth of Clarke’s skin, basking in Clarke’s understanding.

Clarke was overcome with the desire to cover Lexa with all the tenderness and Mercy she could muster. Alone in the Underworld, without even a friend for companionship, Lexa bore all the loneliness of the mortal world in a single heart.

Clarke leaned down, lifting Lexa’s chin with a gentle finger, and placed her lips upon Lexa’s. It was a small demonstration of gratitude, but it was all she had.

As she pulled away, Lexa blinked in surprise, lips parted for a moment before she swallowed.

“Will you return?”

Clarke nodded.

“When?”

Clarke looked down at the pomegranate half in her hand. She took a handful of seeds from its center, their juice soaking under her nails as she dug them out.  

Counting, she divided the seeds, dropping six blood-red kernels into Lexa’s palm.

Lexa looked down at them for a moment, then lifted each one to her mouth, staring into Clarke’s eyes with the solemnity of a sacrament.

Clarke felt something crushing in her chest, squeezing her heart. She was afraid to look away, as though Lexa might disappear into the haze of the Underworld forever if she did.

But she thought of the people of Earth, how they needed her, how the plants and animals were dying, and how even Lexa wouldn’t be able to offer all the mercy they deserved. She turned, torn in two, and ran out of the cavern, tearing toward the Styx and the great journey up the steps.

Clarke was in tears as the boulder sealed the passage to Hades behind her. She was tired; so very tired, and so pained to leave Lexa. But the balance of Earth cared nothing for her heart. The world of the Living needed her as much as the Dead needed Lexa.

Clarke roamed the forest, smelling the cold earthiness, the sting of pine in her nose too sharp after the warm haze of the Underworld. The bird calls were shrill and the light filtering through from above was blinding, making Clarke cry harder. She stopped at every frozen bush, every shivering creature, laying her hands on them, offering her warmth. She set new plants to grow deep in the ground. She melted the ice and snow, sending her warmth far across the land, making rivers swell to fury. She banished as much of her mother’s cold anger as she could.

She walked like this for days, weeping and shivering, the fruits of her labor feeble and unsteady. Her feet were heavy, her robes dragging through the leaves and twigs. She walked until she grew too tired to continue, crumpling against a tree, wishing it were dark mist instead. She was exhausted and Earth was no warmer.

Clarke slept fitfully, images of the river and Charon fading in and out. She fought her way through the haze of her mind, searching for Lexa. She reveled in the darkness, wanting to slip into it forever, knowing she couldn’t.

She heard her mother’s angry voice decrying Hades amidst the cries of agony from the mortals in her temple and roused herself, journeying toward the land of mortals.

The city was muddy and weak, people huddled under blankets and rags as she walked through. She felt a solidness to her she hadn’t felt before; her head was held high, shoulder back, feet certain. Her footprints no longer yielded flowers, but jagged sprouts of bright green grass and weeds. She walked purposefully to her temple, prepared to right the damage that had been done there, to give whatever mercies Spring could give.

Her temple was almost unrecognizable; her visage was shrouded, the white of her priestesses’ gowns changed from white to deep purple, if they wore robes at all. Flames burned in torches and rather than soft white light, there was a silent, forceful glow. The music was changed, too; rather than birdlike melodies and plucked strings, there were drums and chants. Priestesses were anointing young women with smears of blood on their forehead, initiating them into a sacred sisterhood cloaked in darkness.

At first Clarke wanted to call out for them to stop, to return to the peacefulness and clarity she’d seen when she’d visited with Lexa.

But there was something new and familiar coursing through the air of her temple that vibrated through her.

The women who worshipped her were aware of their own power now. This was their place to honor the sacred in all of them, of the ability to give and take life, to celebrate the fruits of their bodies and labors. They had a sense of belonging here that Clarke suddenly knew. These women did not fear Gods the way most mortals did.

Clarke wondered at it, perplexed that such power could be housed in _her_ temple. But then she remembered Lexa’s surprise when Clarke had said she’d never walked among mortals.

 _Does your mother not want you to know how beloved you are? How_ powerful _?_

And Clarke knew that in order to restore the balance of Earth, she had to confront her mother.

She found her mother in her garden, sitting stoically with her eyes closed, willfully blind to the chaos of the frozen Earth.

“Mother,” Clarke said.

Demeter’s eyes opened, just as icy as the rest of the World. She took in Clarke for a moment before she moved, then sprang up, causing a wave of summer to burst out five feet from where she stood.

“ _Persephone_ ,” she cried, bringing Clarke’s head to her shoulder. “My brave, sweet girl…” She held Clarke there for what felt like hours, and around them Clarke heard the drip of thaw, heard the creaking of life begin to move again.

When Demeter pulled back she was tearful.

“Did he hurt you?” she asked, panicked.

Clarke shook her head, willing the peace she’d absorbed in the Underworld out onto her mother. “I was anything but harmed.”

Demeter clung to her again, and the jarring closeness of her mother’s body made her feel out of place. She was use to distance filled with yearning that stood between her and Lexa.

“Mother,” Clarke said, swallowing. “You must stop this.”

“Stop caring for you, my only child?” Demeter said.

“Stop the torrents of ice and lifelessness,” Clarke said. “The people of Earth are suffering.”

Demeter tilted her head. “What do you know of the people of Earth?”

Clarke stood back, drawing herself up to her full height. She realized she was taller than her mother now. “I know I am revered among them as powerful. I know they are no different than Gods aside from the fallibility of their bodies. And I know that they worship you and me and fear Hades, when Hades is their most loyal and humble servant.”

Demeter looked affronted. “What has he put in your head, child?” she asked, lifted her hand to tuck Clarke’s hair behind her ear.

Clarke thought of Lexa, alone night after night. She thought of how she’d been banished from the company of her sisters, decried by Zeus and the gods of Olympus, blamed for all the suffering and pain of the mortal world, and had to witness the death of her lover as both human and animal.

She thought of Lexa’s sacrifice, of how she yearned to ease suffering, how Mercy was the only thing she could offer in the throes of pain and loss and heartbreak. Lexa didn’t think it was enough, and yet that didn’t stop her from doing all she could.

Clarke couldn’t bear it. The impossibility of Lexa’s task weighed so heavy, she felt like she would crumple just from contemplating it.

“She has put _nothing_ in my head,” Clarke said. “I saw it all with my own eyes. Souls, all beloved by her, all praising her devoted service. I saw suffering mortals find relief in her arms. I saw the burden she has been forced to bear because Zeus tells nothing but lies.”

Now Demeter looked angry. “Your father banished Hades to the Underworld for a _reason_. I will not stop my protest until I know fyou are safe from Hades’ clutches.”

Clarke felt anger sweep through her, almost as strong as her love for Lexa. If she’d been closer, she might have sent vines and brambles shooting up to Olympus, binding Zeus to his throne, gagging him, shrinking him until he was so small he could barely be seen. She wanted to scream that the earth was wide enough to allow Lexa to walk freely through it. Lexa didn’t deserve her banishment. If anything, Zeus ought to be the one cast out.

Clarke imagined all the things she would do to Zeus if she knew she could not fail. Curse him, lash him with thorny vines, command a swarm of mother birds to peck at his eyes, send an army of her mortal worshippers to stand before him and demand answers.

But instead she looked her mother square in the eyes and said, “Do not punish the mortals for the choices I’ve made. I _chose_ to go down to Hades. I was always free to go, and I chose to stay.”

Demeter blinked, and for a moment Clarke wondered if she would shout at her. But she said nothing, and Clarke stepped forward, eyes squinting, driving her point right into her mother’s heart.

“The Queen of Hades is the kindest, most benevolent God I’ve ever met. She serves her people tirelessly and selflessly. She comforts those who are frightened of the journey. Her realm is devoid of conflict and suffering. She offers Mercy, which is more powerful than you or I can hope to be. All spirits that know her love her. _I_ love her.”

Clarke stumbled at the truth that fell out of her mouth.

But Demeter had heard none of it.

“Clarke, that’s impossible. How could a God who brings nothing but death and suffering be all those things?”

Clarke steeled over, furious at her mother’s ignorance.

“You think there is only wrong and right, that you and I are the greater Gods. But I’ve _seen_ Hades, and I know there must be both light _and_ dark. Without Hades, Earth would devolve into chaos and suffering beyond your comprehension. Hades is as important to the balance of Earth as your harvest.”

Demeter looked offended. “I will not hear any more of this insult, Persephone.”

“Hear whatever you will,” Clarke spat. “But do not think for a moment that your seeds find life anywhere but in the dark.”

With that she turned and walked solidly away. Her warmth became heat, and as she strode toward the mortal realm, she melted every bit of ice and snow she passed, heading back toward Hades.


	6. Eros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to my beta @youreterriblemuriel and my #1 cheerleader @decalexas
> 
> I have another multichapter in the works for Sanvers, and I was hoping to have the first chapter ready to post today, but I've been much more focused on the middle and end of that story and don't have the first chapter even half drafted. But it's coming, and I've already got 16k of solid middle/end, so if you want to read that, subscribe to me and be notified in real time.
> 
> You can also follow me on Tumblr where I'm always posting or at least lurking. @lingeringlilies
> 
> I have a few novels for sale on Amazon under my pen name Lily R Mason if you're interested in reading more of my work. Also, I'm gonna be at Clexacon giving a workshop if anyone wants to come meet me and chat. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and happy holidays!

****Clarke descended the stairs of Hades with purpose and certainty. She knew this domain to be nobler than Earth or Olympus. She was proud to return to it, to take refuge in its Mercy.

After crossing the Styx, she took off her sandals, bare feet pressing into the black mud as she walked into the darkness again, through the void, until she could feel Lexa’s nearness. It was a warmth, a soft, sad glow, a feeling in the air that had its own vibration and taste. Clarke rounded a corner of stone and found her, curled in a nest of furs and pillows in a great hollow chamber of rock and marble. She looked small and exhausted, knees curled toward her chest under a soft silver nightgown, dark hair piled on the pillow behind her.

“Lexa.”

Lexa rolled over to look at her, eyes wide with surprise to see Clarke back in Hades after only two weeks. She rose as soon as she could, walking the few paces between them. He nightgown slipped down to cover her legs, sweeping along the misty floor of the great room.

“What do you need?”

She seemed anxious, as though she knew something was not right on Earth.

Clarke didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t know what she needed -- certainly nothing she could name, like a flower or fruit or breeze. She shook her head, trying to convey there was no object she desired.

And yet her hand reached out, wanting something.

Lexa’s hand rose to meet hers, and as soon as they connected, Clarke knew.

She lifted her other hand to Lexa’s face and brought it to her own, pressing lips to lips, the softness and warmth within each of them connecting. It was more alive than the goodbye kiss she’d given Lexa previously. She felt an awakening in it.

The great cavern seemed to shrink around them. Not in a way that made Clarke hungry for air or wanting escape; rather it seemed to cocoon them together, shielding them from the outside world so completely that Clarke forgot it existed; there was no Underworld, no Earth, no forest or river or Olympus. There was only this: Lexa’s arms, Lexa’s lips against hers, in all their desperation and joy. Clarke felt as though a dozen tiny suns shone upon them from every direction.

Their kiss deepened and Clarke grasped at Lexa’s nightgown, the fine, slippery fabric smooth as marble against her hands. No sooner had she gathered it to lift, it seemed to dissolve into mist, and her hands were upon Lexa’s bare skin, and she shivered despite the warmth. How wrong she had been to think death was cold; Lexa was so warm and soft to the touch, Clarke wondered for a moment if she might be better suited to bringing forth life.

Clarke pressed Lexa to her heart, trying to absorb her as Lexa had the souls of mortals, wanting to give her that peace. Lexa fell further against her, breath shaking and wet, and Clarke held her up, feeling her own robes dissolve too. They were skin to skin, held up in the mist, warm and soft and wrapped in each other. Clarke hoped Lexa could feel her unwavering admiration and love for her through her body.

Hands slipped against breasts and into secret places, bringing forth gasps and moans and cries of joy. They were suspended together, life and death in perfect balance, until the last pulse echoed between them. Then they drifted back down into the nest of furs Lexa had been sleeping in.

Clarke thought perhaps the warm glow she felt came from Lexa’s face, she was beaming so wondrously. For the first time, Clarke saw joy in Lexa’s eyes. She marveled at it, drawing her finger over the curve of Lexa’s cheek, watching as Lexa’s eyelashes fluttered and closed.

All was quiet and warm and right above and below.

“I understand death now,” Lexa said dreamily.

Clarke looked at her, wondering.

“I imagine death to be Mercy. And you have shown it to me beyond anything I have imagined.”

Clarke stared at her, enamored.

She thought of the power of the tides above on Earth, and thought that their force was nothing compared to what it must have taken to break Lexa open so beautifully. That power surely couldn’t be from her. She could see its force over the expanse of Lexa’s soft body, nestled in every crook, clinging to every fine hair, cradling her head.

And yet as she looked at Lexa, beautifully naked and unworried, preserved by the stillness of death that surrounded her, Clarke felt something else overtake her. While Lexa was finally at peace, Clarke was consumed as though in flames. Lexa had said some people imagined death to be eternal suffering in fire; Clarke felt that agony now as she realized she could not stay in Hades forever, however much she wanted to. She would have to return to the Earth to ensure new life, to quell the raging of her mother and Zeus and any other gods who thought it their right to dictate her life.

Loving Lexa was salted water for thirst.

Despite herself, Clarke began to cry. Lexa roused from her placid contentment immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, lifting her head.

Clarke sniffled until the full force of her sorrow caused her to tip forward into Lexa, burrowing her head against her breast. She clung to her as though they might be separated any second.

Lexa sat up, not alarmed, but swooping in with the same wave of Mercy she offered the dying. She cradled Clarke in her arms, fingers carding through her hair, curling around her protectively.

“What is it, my love?” Lexa hummed.

The words shot through Clarke like a merciful dagger, and she stiffened for a few seconds before going limp.

There was nothing she could do now. A final sob rang through her.

So this was what it felt like to be hit by Eros.

“Let me stay. Let me serve in the Underworld as I do above.”

“As an emissary from Olympus.” It was a question, though Lexa’s voice didn’t lift, as though she didn’t dare to hope.

“No,” Clarke said. “As your consort.”

Lexa swallowed and Clarke saw she was trying to blink away disbelief and wonder.

“I cannot ask you to do that.”

“I’m asking _you_.”

Lexa gazed at her in utter adoration. “The Dead deserve as great a Queen as you.”

Clarke inched closer, pressing her warm palm to the soft curve of Lexa’s cheek. When she spoke it was a low, sober murmur. “They already have a great Queen,” she said intently. “And she is deserving of love and Mercy and all the joys of Earth.”

“But the Earth needs you, Clarke. Together we ensure the cycle.”

Clarke swallowed. “I could return to you as the cycle allows.”

“Your mother will not stop her protest until you return above.”

“I know,” Clarke said, pained. “But I want to stay here as long as I can.”

“Sleep on it, dear one,” Lexa said softly. “Perhaps the morning will bring clarity.”

“I have clarity,” Clarke argued. “More than ever before.”

“Then it will remain in the morning,” Lexa said. “We are not constrained by time the way mortals are.”

And though Clarke knew what Lexa meant, she couldn’t help but think that they were constrained in every other way.

She wrapped herself around Lexa and drifted off in the mist, willing time to stand still.

The following morning Clarke woke alone. She pulled on her robes and made her way to the great cavern she’d first stumbled upon, the room with the great onyx throne. She knew instinctively she would find Lexa there.

Lexa was sitting on her throne as though the weight of every mortal life she’d ever taken was upon her. There was none of the liberation or joy Clarke had sought to give her.

Lexa looked up and seemed saddened by Clarke’s presence, as though Clarke would meet the fate of a mortal.

“Good morning,” Lexa said.

“It would have been a better morning if I’d woken beside you.”

Lexa looked down, brushing something off her lap. Clarke noticed her robes were a shade lighter, like the corners of the sky on a moon-brightened summer night.

Clarke reached forward and took her hand, pulling her to standing. She kissed her as though to wipe away the consternation on Lexa’s face.

“Do you still want to stay with me?” Lexa asked sheepishly. “Even if you must return to Earth frequently?”

“Of course. More than ever.”

“Even if we are afforded only half the life together we desire?”

“Better half than none at all.”

Lexa looked pained, but also relieved, as though she didn’t understand why Clarke would commit herself to a life of darkness, but was overjoyed.

“I can give you my kingdom. Power, riches, the modest comforts of my home,” Lexa said.

“And your heart?”

“You already have it.”

Clarke brushed Lexa’s hair over her ear, wondering what condition Lexa was working up to.

Lexa looked up, having plucked a tendril of courage. “But there is one thing I cannot give you, and I understand if it is too much of a sacrifice for the Goddess of Spring to make.”

Clarke cocked her head. “What?”

“Children.”

Clarke hadn’t even thought about children.

“Anything so vulnerable and tender as a child would perish in this domain,” Lexa said apologetically. “Even gods are not meant to live without sun and wind and stars.”

Clarke stepped closer, resting her hands on Lexa’s arms.

“All of Earth is my child. The fawns and chicks and newly-sprouted seeds are all of my body and heart.”

“It’s a great sacrifice.”

“It is nothing compared to the sacrifices you have made.”

Lexa was mute, startled in her solemn way, that Clarke could see her sacrifice.

Clarke tried to clear emotion from her throat. “Let me be your Queen, and I will spend my time as you do; serving the living _and_ the dead. When I’m above I will send you sunken reminders of Spring, things too delicate for the living world to hold, promises that I will return. And when I’m here, we will offer Mercy and peace to all that need it. Together we will keep the balance.”

Lexa swallowed, overcome.

“What oath must I take?” Clarke asked, desperate to prove her loyalty and resolve.

Lexa looked down at her hand, held in a loose fist, then opened it, revealing a set of rings, one of pure gold and one of pure silver.

“These were forged in fire in the age of the Titans. Any oath taken with them is binding. Not even Zeus will be able to undo it.”

“Good,” Clarke said. She took the silver ring from Lexa’s hand, understanding she was to slip it on Lexa’s finger.

First Lexa took her hand, tenderly, as she did with all things. She held Clarke’s hand looking down at her finger before sliding the ring on, as the mortals had done in the temple of Persephone. Then Clarke returned the gesture, sliding the silver ring onto Lexa’s slender finger.

Lexa could not restrain her emotion anymore. A single, silver tear rolled down her cheek, so quickly and determinedly Clarke didn’t have time to catch it. It dripped down to the ground, sinking into the soft earth.

As it soaked into the ground, Clarke felt something. There was a flicker in the stillness of the underworld. She looked down, feeling something in her chest. Though she didn’t want to tear her attention away from Lexa, she knelt before her, pressing two fingers to the ground where the tear had fallen. She felt a warmth and a hopefulness familiar to her from Earth. She closed her eyes and wished the seed to sprout.

And then, miraculously, tentatively, she felt it split and a tendril weave its way up through the dirt, a single tiny shoot lifting up toward Clarke’s fingers. She moved them and saw the shy sprout poking up at them, and felt hope wash over her.

“How… how can this be?” Clarke asked.

Lexa cupped Clarke’s face, drawing her back up to stand. A smile as bright as a Spring sunrise spread over her face, making her tear track glisten and fade. She gazed at Clarke - her Queen now - and said, as though it were the simplest of truths:

“Nothing is truly dead that is loved.”


End file.
